When Jerry and I started trying to conceive again, he made me promise that I wouldn't tell anyone that I was pregnant this time around until the 12-week mark. Statistically, if you make it to the second trimester, there's a very good chance that the baby will be carried to term.
Reluctantly, I promised. I'm an open book, so the next two months are going to be very hard for me. As my body goes through ridiculous changes, I'll only be able to write about it privately, without even my closest friends to turn to.
So we agreed to tell our moms. And we swore them to secrecy.
This time around, we didn't tell them with any fanfare. We're a little more guarded, a little more cautious.
Last time, for Jerry's family, we said we were going to redecorate the office and asked for opinions on the paint swatches we had chosen -- pink and blue. For my family, I made buttons for everyone with pink and blue trim and the words #1 ____ (whatever their relationship would be to our child). I wrapped them and had everyone open them simultaneously at my grandmother's 80th birthday party.
So it seemed anticlimactic to whisper the news in hushed tones over the phone to my mom yesterday, but I know she understands. I wasn't sure I was going to tell her right away, but it was practically bursting out of me.
At my insistence, Jerry agreed to tell his mom. In his words, he "doesn't want to put anyone else through that type of pain again," but I reminded him that our mothers would want to know and help us no matter what. And when we stopped at my mother-in-law's house for a few minutes to share the news, she said, "I'm glad you told me. Now I can pray."
The realization that I'm pregnant again hasn't quite sunk in completely. Some moments I'm running through names in my head and others I'm absolutely terrified. It's simultaneously all I want to talk about and something I need to ignore for fear of fainting from the weight of it all.
Then there are the insecurities. Will my body hold up this time? Am I eating well enough? Will I be a good mother? Can I even DO this?
Plus, to make matters worse, I fell two days ago. It was first thing in the morning and I was walking down the stairs to let Toby outside. I was groggy, not quite functioning properly and felt my left heel graze against the lip of a step and slide. My other foot shot out from underneath me and I slammed down the bottom few steps and landed with a thud on the kitchen floor, skinning both of my elbows so badly that the wounds look like a second-degree burn. I just sort of sat there in shock, trying to regain my breath and holding back tears. My arms were numb from the impact and my body hurt all over.
Now I can't help but wonder what's going on inside. And it scares me to no end.
But I guess a big part of pregnancy is having faith. Having faith that things are going to work out alright.
I'm going to try very hard only to worry about the things I have control over.