June 3, 2013. It
felt like déjà vu. It was early in the
morning and I hadn’t slept due to a sneaking—nay a NAGGING—suspicion that I
better take a pregnancy test.
We
were finally in the clear to start trying again. But due to packing and moving, we both had
assumed we had missed the golden moment of opportunity. Plus, I felt great! Other than being a little worn out from moving
across the country and changing time zones twice, I was feeling good. When I was pregnant the first time, I started
having symptoms within a few days.
I
thought I would take a pregnancy test, see that it was negative, move on and
not worry anymore about whether or not I was pregnant.
So
the best way to describe my reaction to that positive pregnancy test was
NUMB. I just shut down. I couldn’t process it.
I
left the pregnancy test on the counter in our second bathroom. I crawled back into bed and just lay
there. About five minutes before I knew
Andrew’s alarm was going to wake him up for his first day of school, I shook
him awake. “Hey. I took a pregnancy test. And it’s positive.”
He
looked more than a little confused.
Remember. This was the guy who
called me out at Texas Roadhouse just days before. Andrew tried to be positive. But we were both shocked.
I think the thing that bothers me the most is that I haven’t had strong pregnancy symptoms and so I am worried about the success of this pregnancy. It feels so different this time. My symptoms aren’t giving me a constant reminder and so it just doesn’t feel like it is really happening.
And
I am scared to hope. What if I lose this
baby as well?
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