I was reading one of those trashy celebrity gossip magazines the other day. After reading all about Kate Middleton’s “birth plan” and the new cast of “Teen Mom 3”, I flipped to a section that announced yet another celebrity pregnancy. Oh, joy! (sense the sarcasm?). Reading that, I finally decided I couldn’t take anymore and put the magazine down.
Maybe it’s the bitter, angry, me talking, but all I wanted to do was “jump” into that magazine, go up to that knocked-up celebrity and ask her, “how can you be so sure?!?” I’d like to tell her that being three months pregnant does not necessarily mean that she’s “HAVING A BABY!” (as the headline so boldly stated). Believe me, I would know.
It’s weird. Before we lost you, I totally assumed that being three months pregnant meant “HAVING A BABY!”. That once you hit the second trimester, bringing a baby home six months later was pretty much a guarantee. According to Dr. Google, my stack of pregnancy books and everyone else I would talk to, there was absolutely no reason for me to have any doubt that I would give birth to a healthy, living baby come August. Your dad and I never said “if we have the baby…” it was always. “when we have the baby…”. Pregnancy was a “when”, not an “if”, kind of thing.
But now that I’ve had my first pregnancy end with the loss of my first baby, pregnancy is most definitely an “if”, not a “when”, concept. Now, whenever someone announces they are pregnant, I automatically think, “well, I sure hope their baby is healthy” or “well, I sure hope they don’t lose their baby at 20 weeks.” When someone says “we have our anatomy scan today, we are finally going to find out the sex of our baby”, I think, “or, maybe you will find out that something is terribly wrong with the baby. Finding out the sex should be the least of your concerns.” The truth is, when someone says, “we’re HAVING A BABY!” I’m not filled with excitement, I’m filled with dread, so scared that what happened to me might happen to them.
I hate it. I hate that pregnancy will never again be the beautiful, miraculous thing it was to me before we lost you. I hate that I will never be able to enjoy my own future pregnancies, or even my friend’s pregnancies the same way I did before I knew, first-hand, how quickly such a beautiful experience could end in such ugly heartbreak. I hate that I will never be blissfully naive, ever again.
I wish that the next time I was pregnant I could loudly shout, “We’re HAVING A BABY!” for the world to hear. But I know it’ll be more like a quiet, shaky, “I guess we’re pregnant, for the time being anyway…”. That is, if we ever even get pregnant again (my goodness – how we lower our expectations!).
I guess the only five months of beautiful, naive, pregnant bliss I’ll ever have belong to you, Hudson. And I kind of like that. I’m glad that I was unaware of all that could go wrong when I was carrying you. I’m glad I was able to enjoy and revel in every second of the time we had together. I’m glad I told everyone I met, “I’m HAVING A BABY!”.
I just wish it would have been true.