by an Anonymous Mom
I wake up feeling fragile.
I’m thirsty and as I sit up, the gentle, achy reprieve of having drunk too much the night before grabs at my muscles.
The drinking wasn’t intentional. A co-worker’s birthday set the stage and I just took advantage of the flow of alcohol and the company tab.
That’s when I remembered that I wasn’t pregnant. I was drinking because I couldn’t deal with it and because I couldn’t talk to anyone about it.
I had peed on a stick three days earlier with my pulse racing and my heart set to tremor in my chest. It was negative. I sat there for a moment, staring at this strange plastic test in my hand, not sure if I should throw it out, flush the toilet, or cry first. I looked at the test again and shook it like an old Polaroid picture.
Then, chiding myself for thinking it would change anything, I tossed it out, put my loveliest smile on my face, and told my husband jauntily “not this time honey!” Then I rushed off to make breakfast for our two-year-old.
We’re trying for our second – or we were earlier this year – but the miscarriage changed all of that. Since then, I haven’t quite been myself. I’m scared to get pregnant again, but it is the thing I want most, too.
I read into every symptom possible and think I may have conceived but at the same time I force myself to keep some of my routine ‘we’re not trying’ habits (like drinking coffee, or the rare glass of wine with dinner) until I see that positive result again. And I’ve vowed that even after I see that second line, I’m not going to say anything to anyone – not even my husband – until I feel safe that this baby is staying.
I’m not saying that I’m only going to tell my husband at three months, but I will need a few more weeks to believe that everything is ok. I simply can’t bear to put my better half through a needless rollercoaster that’s just going to end in heartache.
I’m not going to tell anyone else – including my parents- until five months. It’s just the only way I’ll feel safe about it.
That is if I ever get pregnant again.
I was so angry at myself the other day that I just wanted to forget everything. Forget the miscarriage, forget the stress and yearning of trying to get pregnant, of staying pregnant, of being such a disappointment to.. well, to myself.
I thought, “Why am I still not eating sushi or blue cheese? I don’t have anything in there. Why the hell shouldn’t I go and get drunk?”
I was rebelling against my sadness. It felt good to tell those morose, despairing feelings where to go. But then with every sip I realized I was actively sabotaging myself. The smell of the bar made me feel raw and hopeless. I said my goodbyes to the party while everything was still in full swing, and went home to my amazing family.
There is such a fine line between ‘freedom to’ and ‘freedom from’. I really don’t think that anyone can understand that better than a woman who is trying to conceive.
One minute you are striving to be a vessel of purity and exemplary health. The next minute disappointment sends you to such depths. It’s hard to just let it go. It’s hard to find a balance. And when it is a particularly dark day, it’s hard to keep sacrificing for something that you don’t think will actually happen.
Tomorrow is a new dawn although I’ve seen it before. I know how it plays out. I just wonder for how long I’ll have to keep it up.
I’ll vow to do better. I’ll promise to be a better mom, a better wife, and a better example of pre-pregnancy planning. I’ll get back on my strict, organic, vessel-of-purity/baby-making diet and take a deep breath. I’ll do my yoga again, maybe go for a run. I will try not to cry.
And I’ll renew my faith in ‘Maybe’.
