Greg and I considered not sharing this news at all. If possible, I would be packing now to go live in a cave until the beginning of December, which is when we are hoping to bring home this new baby that I’m carrying. Does anyone have a cave for rent?
When I got the positive pregnancy test — on April Fool’s Day, of course — I felt relief. I don’t know that I’ll ever get to a place in this pregnancy where I can say that I’m excited, but I’m certainly relieved to not be visiting the fertility doctor every week. And relieved that I actually did get pregnant because our chances didn’t look good.
We’ve been reluctant to tell because it can be painful to have to go through the motions with people who don’t understand. When people start talking about minivans and the juggling of kids, I cringe. Sometimes I cry. Because Greg and I never assume that we will bring home a healthy baby. We talk about “if,” not “when.” We’re ecstatic at the possibility, but we also know that there are about 20 ultrasounds (not exaggerating) standing between us and a newborn in the back of our car. I was considered a high-risk case before I even had Genevieve because I have a wonky uterus. Now, I’m more like high risk with flames shooting from my head.
Most of the people we have told have been wonderful about the news. They want to know how we’re coping emotionally, and they brim with the hope that I know this baby deserves even if Greg and I can’t always muster it. And Eleanor is so excited! I have felt many times since losing Genevieve that Eleanor saved my life. Now, especially, she’s my reminder that good things — noisy, hungry, rambunctious things — can happen.
We don’t need congratulations. That’s for after we bring home a baby. For now, hopes and prayers and good thoughts are enough.