When I first began this piece in January, I was nearing the end of my third miscarriage since Claire was born, my fifth total in my life. I was sad for obvious reasons, but I was ok, I still felt grounded. Upon learning of the conception, I was certainly thankful, yet I told God that whatever came of it- I would be happy. If she was meant to have a sibling, then it would stick. If not, well I was ok with that, too. I just needed that last attempt for my own piece of mind, and upon the loss of that baby, oddly enough, I was at peace- we were one and done, and I could finally let it go.
Not. even. two. months. later. I stared at that pee test in complete disbelief. A million thoughts were going through my brain, but they were all overrode by “Don’t get your hopes up… Don’t get your hopes up… Don’t get your hopes up…” Here we go again- checking the tp every time I peed, afraid to poop because I might push it out, afraid to exercise because I might stress it out, afraid to talk about it because I might jinx it. All of these associations made over the course of years of unsuccessfully trying to make a baby- but a small, buried piece inside of me was still hopeful, and holy crap was I sick! My entire preschool class became accustomed to me running to the potty to vomit intermittently, how do I keep quiet about this?
But mostly, we did. We told a small circle of family and friends, and I literally held my breath as the weeks passed. My first appointment, my first ultrasound- everything was looking good, yet we still hesitated to step towards acceptance. I am of AMA (Advanced Maternal Age, i.e. old pregnant lady) so I qualified for this new blood test that is 99.9% accurate in their chromosomal profile determination and the sex as early as 14 weeks. Dan and I decided that upon gaining that information it was safe to tell Claire, especially since she was already commenting on my “big belly you musta got from dinner, Mama”.
Almost a week after the blood draw, I woke up early on a Tuesday, and in the silence of the morning there was the email, waiting for me. Should I wait for Dan? Nope, sorry. Click- opened it. Click- accepted some terms. Click- your child tested negative for chromosomal abnormalities.
Do you want to know the sex? Click- what a weird way to find this out…
Sean Daniel Reidy is due December 9th, named after two of my most favorite men in my life, my brother and my husband. As of the 18 week ultrasound, he looks healthy and active, busy growing his little self in my outstretched belly, showing no signs of any of the cardiac anomalies that his sister dealt with. Between that history, and my AMA status, they’ll be keeping a sharp eye on us, so I’m confident that if anything needs attention we’ll know early on.
We have finally stepped into that acceptance space, and are embracing the joy that comes with preparing for a new family member. As I begin to purge Claire’s baby clothes, I hold on to the little snuggly things that are neutral enough to be worn by him as well. I cry when I think that I might be able to experience a maternity leave at home in my love bubble, without being in the NICU, without the daily doctor visits, without having to inject my newborn twice a day with medication. I’m eternally grateful that we were blessed with this little guy, I so look forward to meeting him. I know he will be worth the wait- and we thought we were one and done…