I don’t know if it’s going to get worse, but I have some strong suspicions.
A couple of weeks ago I started having all of the classic signs of pregnancy. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about – missed period, aches and constant trips to the potty. One night I ate tuna fish in a bowl at 10pm. I didn’t need to pee on that stick because I already knew. And Jud knew too. That tuna deal is enough to convince the biggest skeptic.
But I did the test, an old one we had from last December when I’d had my suspicions about similar oddities. In December, it just didn’t feel all that real. There was something about it that seemed like I was lying, even when I wrote August 3 on a package of newborn onesies and wrapped them up as a present for my parents. Even when we went to see the doctor and he didn’t attempt to find a heartbeat at 8 weeks. Even when we started thinking about getting a third row vehicle.
I kept my workouts up without much of a problem, but I did send the 30 Day Shred into better hands and started feeling frustrated with Jane Austin’s scratchy voice. I ran and ran and didn’t feel the least bit light headed.
And then I had cramps. Not too terrible, but some spotting too and that made me worry. It was the same day Gabrielle Giffords got shot and I remember feeling this terrible sense of loss on such a grandiose scale that Saturday in January. I called the doctor’s line and they told me to stay off my feet, drink plenty of water. Could be nothing. Could be something. Wait.
And I did. I was waiting. Monday came and my cousin, Jud and I went to the doctor’s office. There was nothing flickering on that little screen. It should’ve been. We were eleven weeks into it and there should have been all sorts of movement but instead there was just silence and stillness and a tiny little thing that didn’t get to grow. And it was awful.
So this time, when I peed on that stick last Thursday but didn’t have to wait even one second to see that little plus sign. It was all positive. And it felt real. It didn’t feel at all like a lie. I felt so pregnant and so good too.
And then the rest of the day happened and it suddenly felt like it was all slipping away. I went to the bathroom and there was this tiny pinkish white tissue. And I freaked. I couldn’t do anything but sit in front of the computer and google those three words. Pink. White. Tissue. But Piper needed to take her nap and I had people coming over and my mind was a total mess.
I tried to read to Piper but I couldn’t hold back the tears while I did it. Eventually, after singing some horribly tuned songs from Tangled, I told her to climb in bed. She wanted me to pray, but I was done. Gideon opened the door to her room, told me to leave and said he would “finish putting Piper down.” I went downstairs and pretty soon he came down too and said, “she’s down now. You can rest and feel better, Mom.” So I did.
We called off our evening activities. My parents came over to help me until Jud got off. I laid on the sofa and tried not to think.
I made an appointment with the midwives for the earliest opening. The woman I spoke to didn’t sound worried about the symptoms. And I know. There’s not anything to do at this point anyway. Six weeks now. There ought to be a heartbeat when we go in on Wednesday. Ought. Should. Hope. I don’t know if I should keep hoping or just come to terms with it all right now. Of course, I don’t really have a choice. That’s what it’s like when you love something, even if it is just in the tiniest little phase of existence. When you love it, you love it completely and there is no room for anything else.
