Reaction of Terrified Pregnant Woman

I wanted to get pregnant. I had heard (and ignored) that biological clock ticking for years. Jay and I dated for two years before we lived together, for four before we got engaged, for almost 7 years before we got married. I’d dragged my feet on every step on the growing up process. As my late twenties started to fade into the very late twenties, I felt those stirrings ever more strongly. So we started to plan. We would start trying to get me pregnant in December. I started on a prenatal in January, stopped taking my birth control pill in July, tried to stop smoking every damn day. I started tracking my cycles and reading up on what I could expect. I tried to figure out all the acronyms without looking them up. In November, we randomly threw the condoms to the bedside floor.

I’d been telling Jay for months that most couples take up to a year to get pregnant. He was excited about all the ‘practicing’ we would be doing. He was also convinced his swimmers could accomplish the task in one try. We had planned a week-long  Caribbean cruise with friends. I drank hard liquor and smoked cigarettes, zip lined in Belize, suntanned, ate lunch meat and drank energy drinks. Actually, our liquor bill for the week was about $700. Quite a bit more than the one drink a day I had been enjoying just in case that one night in November did the trick.

We flew back into Chicago and drove back to NWI. An hour later, I was peeing on the magic stick. I have taken a number of those tests over the years, starting with the first in a grocery store bathroom while my high school boyfriend waited outside. This time, the test did something weird . Usually, after a minute or two, the test gave me a negative and I watched it a minute longer to be sure it wouldn’t change its mind. This time, it immediately showed the plus sign, no wait time at all. weird. And when I stared at it… it didn’t change.

This is what I wanted, right? I planned for this. I knew it was coming. My tits had ached like never before for days. I had missed my period. I had expected to be elated, exuberant, something. I felt… terror. Sheer terror. My life was over. My nightly bottle of wine and daily smoking habit was over. The occasional illicit substance. The rock climbing and zip lining. No more trampolines. All gone. I was now responsible for another human being. For ever.

That terror still hasn’t completely gone away as I hit the second trimester. There’s elation and excitement too. But there’s a healthy dollop of trepidation too. What if I’m just as adept at parenting as my parents were? What if I drop her, accidentally kill him. What if I try to DIY a hammock or tree house and it crushes my child. What if I die early, like my parents? Too many scenarios. Jay reassures me when I voice these crazy, haphazard fears. Of course, I only share one in a million of them and I try to pick the more sane sounding ones.

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