Alright, Psychos. It’s about to get a little crazier up in here.
I can barely believe it myself, but…I’m going to be a mother.
Even typing those words and then reading them back to myself was weird. A mom?! ME?!
I am incredibly thankful and blessed and in awe that my body is able to sustain a pregnancy, especially considering my medical history. When we first found out, I wanted to call up my surgeon from 11 years ago to thank him for what an amazing job he did. Not only did he make me healthy again, but he left my bits and pieces intact and working! The Little Ovary That Could. It’s because of my cancer history that I am especially not taking this for granted…except for the fact that this is all still very hard to believe for me.
I’ve pretty much always known I’ve wanted to be a mom. I kind of grew up knowing it without really realizing it, and it wasn’t until that dream was threatened that I realized how desperately I wanted it.
For the past 11 years since my surgery and the prognosis from my doctors being, and I quote, “We can’t promise anything,” I’ve stared longingly at babies in the grocery store, making faces at them as they gaze at me over their parent’s shoulder. I slowed to gawk at maternity store display windows, only to be pulled along past, wondering if I’d ever get to shop there.
We started trying for a baby quite soon after getting married because we knew we wanted to be parents and we anticipated having fertility issues. We wanted to try and not get our hopes up so that we could start fertility treatments as soon as we needed to/could because we’re not getting any younger and I was told to expect to start menopause early and my egg count was cut in half and holy crap was any of this going to work?!
Imagine our surprise and complete shock when three months in, it worked! We couldn’t believe it. I’m actually tearing up just remembering the moment. First there was pure joy (OH MY GOD!!!), then disbelief (oh…my…god…), and then sheer terror (omg…what have we done?!). Brian had just accepted a kickass new job in Oregon, and we had signed a 9 month lease on a tiny apartment, to begin in January. Doing that math means that we might have to squeeze a baby in amongst our boxes of wedding gifts we still haven’t opened. Maybe fe can sleep in the salad bowl, or perhaps the new mixer. Plus, I had just quit my job and didn’t have another lined up, and I’d need to figure out how to get relicensed in Oregon, effectively increasing our expenses while decreasing our income. Our sense of timing is just peachy sometimes. Of course, I know this will all work out in one way or another, it’s just tough standing at the bottom of a mountain and not knowing how the hell you’re going to climb to the top.
Another huge stressor for me/us was getting mysteriously dropped from Brian’s health insurance, having our coverage expire at the end of the year, and then having to scramble to get new coverage since his new job’s coverage won’t kick in until after a 90 day probationary period. Those few weeks were incredibly depressing for me, as I was unable to see a doctor to even confirm the pregnancy, let alone reassure me that everything was going well. Pair this with my relatively mild first trimester symptoms (meaning that I could hardly believe that I was actually, indeed pregnant), and I just felt like a tired, depressed wreck who cried on the phone to health insurance companies after being put on hold for 45 minutes or more.
I am happy to report that we slogged through our first month in Oregon fairly well, all considering. We now have health insurance, we had our first ultrasound, and holy crap there’s a somersaulting little guppy in there! I’m even starting to show a tiny bit, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just gas.
In conclusion, we’re still pretty shell-shocked.
We’re excited and terrified. We’re excified!
All of the above.