Pregnancy.

I didn’t share too much about my pregnancy because I was nervous. I didn’t speak about it to people other than Sean until I was well past six months and showing, and even then I never wanted to say “I’m pregnant” because I was scared that saying it out loud would make it all end. I very vividly remember telling people about my last pregnancy in the morning and then finding out in the afternoon that it wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t bare the thought of having those conversations again or of blog posts being written… if this time was going to be the same.

For those same reasons, I didn’t document the pregnancy — no weekly bump pictures, no journal entries about feelings and cravings, no lists of comparisons between my previous pregnancies. I didn’t enjoy it. I viewed each week as a mile marker. I just tried to get to the next one as gently and quietly as I could. I just wanted time to keep moving forward.

With each passing week, I questioned if I felt like we were in the safe zone yet — and honestly, until I held the baby… I never felt that. We didn’t prepare. There wasn’t any nesting happening or washing of baby clothes — no names picked out and we chose not to find out the gender. There was just wishing time would keep moving.

We told the kids and their enthusiasm and joy surrounding a new baby was palpable. But their planning and talking and hopes, while exciting in the moment, just sort of left me with feelings of anticipatory grief.

I went to every appointment scared they wouldn’t find the heartbeat. I bought a home fetal doppler but that proved to be more traumatizing for me so I stopped using it. I kept wishing I could feel the baby move — then, surely, I would feel confident. But surprisingly, it didn’t help. At each milestone we met, I discovered my mind very quickly replaced it with a new something. First appointment. Hearing the heartbeat. Next ultrasound. Movement. Anatomy scan. Viability week. Week 28. Week 29. Week 30. It didn’t stop. But, thankfully, time kept moving forward.

In the big picture of my pregnancies, it actually was uneventful. I developed cholestasis (again) but I didn’t feel sick enough to stay on the medicine. I was severely anemic (again) and spent all of December at the infusion clinic getting iron every other day. Around 20 weeks, I was diagnosed with pelvic girdle pain and spent two months in physical therapy and the rest of the pregnancy unable to walk, stand or sit without pain. But with each appointment, the baby was strong. And time just kept moving forward.

When February arrived, all I wanted was an induction date. The doctors settled on 38 weeks because of my bile acids being high, and because of an autoimmune disease I have that can cause congenial heart defects after a certain week in pregnancy. And so, on February 29th, I went to the hospital.

But now that he’s here — I’m disappointed I tread so lightly for 38 weeks. I’m sad I don’t have bump photos — upset I didn’t truly enjoy what was definitely my final pregnancy. I regret that I worried that each kick would be the last. But I’m also not sure I could have handled it differently. So I’m hoping to forgive myself and to truly embrace this fourth trimester with him.

I hope to get some posts up about our newest little guy who we are just totally in love with. He was born on March 1st and I have a whole month of happiness to share here.

And now, of course… I just want time to stop.