I bought this onesie about ten months ago, sure that I’d be able to use it soon to help me tell Michael that a little one was on the way. We’d already been trying for a couple of months, but the months kept passing, and then a year of trying, and fertility doctors and blood work and doubt.
And now, at least for now, here you are. The best mix tape we’ve ever made.
I don’t want to be a baby blogger, a mommy blogger, heavens no. But I’m turning myself inside out with excitement and worry and just the urge to do something, so here I am, writing to you. Or about you. I’m not sure yet. You aren’t even a you yet, strictly speaking. Strictly speaking, you’re a rapidly developing embryo with a spinal cord and parts of a brain already, and maybe buds for limbs, made half of Michael and half of me. You’re becoming you, and I fervently hope you’ll continue to do so. I really do. You’ve got some hurdles to jump. Don’t mind my inadequacies too much. Do all you can with what you have. We’ll do the same, I promise.
Here are the details you probably won’t want to know.
I woke up this morning and thought to myself, That’s it, I’m going to take a pregnancy test. Not because I thought I could be pregnant, but because it’s a truth universally acknowledged that once you’ve peed on a stick you’ve paid good money for, your period will start pretty soon thereafter. When the first test showed a faint, pink line–just a glimmer, just a shade–I thought to myself, That can’t be right. I got out another test, another brand. Waited. Another faint pink line. It was right. So I woke Michael as sweetly as I could and asked him to come into the bathroom, to look at something. He saw the lines too, and I cried. Maybe we both did. It’s hard to know how to feel–and it’s still hard–excitement and terror all at once, or if it’s nor terror, at least uncertainty. We’d just decided to ease off of the escalation of infertility treatments and tests, to wait and let my body and my medicines take their course. Little did we know we hadn’t any need to decide. You were already in there, dividing and growing. Sneaky.
We made an appointment for blood tests immediately, and got half what we wanted. hCG is ~450, definitely pregnant. TSH is 7.2ish, definitely elevated, about five points higher than they’d like…likely because of you. I’ve spent some time on the telephone today, calling the endocrinologist and the infertility clinic, spreading the news and asking what to do. We have appointments tomorrow and the next day. We’ll see what happens.
Until then, you’re mine. You’re part of me. Stay part of me, okay? Stick around.
When I hung up with Michael earlier, he said, I love you, baby. And other baby. I can’t call you a baby yet–my fears and my politics won’t let me, and I can’t go letting you change that much, not yet–but this morning I thought of what your name might be. And I’m so happy. And so scared.
And already so tired of keeping secrets! Traci knows, but no one else aside from doctors. I’m so used to telling whoever will listen when something this big happens in my life, talking talking talking, all the time! But there are rules about this kind of thing, I guess. You need some time. So do we, probably.
Just a short mix today, okay? Just how I’m feeling, what I want to share. Jazzed and loving and full of possibility.