Yesterday we had a scan and saw the heartbeat for the first time. I’m 8 weeks today.
This is my third pregnancy this year, and the other two didn’t stick. 8 weeks was when the heart stopped beating for the baby we lost in May.
I’m perched somewhere between anxiety and excitement, and I’m constantly holding myself back from any feelings of joy possible… just in case.
But honestly what difference would it make? Do I really think that by stopping myself from being happy now will somehow make a miscarriage easier? That I wouldn’t fall as hard. That it wouldn’t hurt.
A miscarriage now would be devastating. Attempting to protect myself by ‘thinking the worst’ isn’t going to make it any easier, it’s just making each day right now a living hell.
So my goal this week (linking in with my values of mindfulness) is to be happy about the pregnancy. To dream unabashedly about the future. To make plans for the baby, even if it’s just in my own mind.
When I was a teenager, I watched a documentary about infertility and I remember one woman had been trying to fall pregnant for over 10 years with no success, but she’d bought so many baby clothes she’d literally filled the wardrobe in her spare bedroom. I remember thinking, what an absolute crazy lady! Who does that?
Yesterday, to celebrate getting to 8 weeks and seeing that little flicker of a backbone, I bought a winter onesie size 0000 for my little baby to put in the cupboard of the spare bedroom.
I had become that crazy lady.
But now I get it. I’m horrified that I judged that lady from the documentary so harshly. Who cares if there’s wardrobes of baby clothes all over the world that never get worn? We need hope. We need joy.
Having the clothes or not having the clothes will not make any difference to the grief if something goes wrong. But it will make me smile today, and that’s something.