For a month now, I’ve been taking my temperature every single day. I told myself that it was to make sure I was ovulating with the cysts; but honestly, it had just as much to do with getting pregnant again. I wasn’t fooling anyone. And this morning my temperature went the highest it’s ever been, and I knew it was finally time to test. The line came quickly and there was no questioning it like last time. We’re pregnant again! Let me just let that soak in for a second.
I. AM. PREGNANT.
Last week I took a couple of tests at 10 and 11 dpo and they came out negative. It was unbelievably heartbreaking, and I did not expect that amount of sadness to come over me. I had no idea how much I had wanted to be pregnant again until the words on the digital test screamed back at me: “Not Pregnant.” It was like this little stick was yelling at me in glaring font that I still wasn’t pregnant, and oh yes, that miscarriage really did happen! I swore I wouldn’t take another until the very last moment. And that moment was this morning after the third night in a row waking up in a pool of sweat, rushing to the bathroom because I had held my pee most of the early morning so that I wouldn’t ruin my temperature. The temp was going to be my deciding factor. Nevermind the fact that I was two days late on my period or that I’ve been feeling naseous for the past two weeks, what mattered was that my temperature needed to stay up. Seeing my temperature drop on the thermometer was going to be much easier than reading another “You Lost a Child and Still Are Not Pregnant” on the home pregnancy test. So I waited until the last minute. And it was so worth it. When I saw that line, I hit Tim on the shoulder as hard as I could. And then I hit him again. (What? That’s not how you show your joy with your loved one?) I was ecstatic. More so than the last time, for sure. The first time I didn’t know how to react. It felt odd for it to be okay to be pregnant, that my mom wasn’t in the next room about to give me a lecture on unprotected sex and my options (by the way Mom, still waiting on that talk). But this time? This time it was okay to feel happiness. I deserve it. It’s been a long 4 months of pain, both physical and emotional. And even though I know the fear will creep in from time to time (it already has a couple of times today), I am determined to be excited about this pregnancy and not spend every waking day frightened of what could happen. What is going to happen is going to happen and I have no control over that. And this child deserves every bit of my excitement.
I feel like I’m in a perfect place mentally. I’m better prepared for what could happen. It would be just as painful emotionally, but I might be able to stand up and dust my pants off a little quicker this time. That loss is always going to remain in me. I was a mother before, and I am a mother again and that baby was just as real to me as this one is now. I feel stronger, more ready; my voice doesn’t even feel the same. So I guess I’m jumping off the bridge and not looking back. And I think this time, it’s going to be different.