The End (7w4d)

It was an awful, painful, bloody night. When I finally got up this morning (after sleeping off and on and then napping until almost noon), I decided I couldn’t wait until my prenatal appointment tomorrow to find out what I was certain I already knew.

I went to the hospital this afternoon and they confirmed my fear. There was no heartbeat. I knew there wouldn’t be when the silence in the room lingered for almost five minutes. Sunday, they located the heartbeat within a minute. Today, it was as if the doctor was seeking some elusive treasure that was not to be found.

I knew it. And yet, I still hoped.

I go back to the hospital tomorrow for more blood work, to be sure my hormone levels are falling as they should be. I’m fairly certain the worst is over and there won’t be a need for invasive procedures. That’s one small blessing in all this—my body knows what to do once it’s over.

I’m hanging in there. I’m being tough. I’m looking toward the future because there is so much to look forward to and so many good things on the horizon. We’ll try again, when I’m ready. When I’ve healed, inside and out. Maybe next time will be my time.

I have hope.

Waiting in Limbo (7w3d)

I got my hopes up Sunday. I thought that was a good thing, to be reassured. Now, I’m not so sure. I am starting to think I will not be in the ninety-fifth percentile. I’ve been bleeding since my ER visit. Today, it’s been like a regular period, including the heavy cramping.

I’m miserable and I can’t take anything for the pain but Tylenol. I’m scared because I don’t feel pregnant, but I want to believe there’s a chance it will all work out. That chance seems less and less likely as the hours pass.

I know I could go back to the hospital. Probably should, since the bleeding is heavier. But they can’t do anything for me if I’m miscarrying and I don’t have the energy to sit in the waiting room of the ER for hours. It’s scary, this not knowing. But I’m not sure I’m ready to know.

My first prenatal appointment is Thursday. That seems forever away. I’m afraid I won’t be offered the same reassurance I was on Sunday. I’m afraid there won’t be a heartbeat to see.

Feeling Hopeful (7w1d)

I woke up this morning hoping I wouldn’t have a reason to go to the hospital. I had intended to call on the doctor’s office on Monday, tell them I was having some bleeding and convince them I needed an ultrasound.

Things started out well, just some cramping and very little bleeding. I was hopeful. But as the day progressed, it got worse. By six o’clock, I knew I needed to go to the emergency room. So I went—alone—armed with two books and a notebook, just in case I was waiting all night. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad.

Urine sample, triage, brief exam, ultrasound. I was waiting for the ultrasound. I was waiting for them to tell me there was no heartbeat. I was prepared for the worst news because I’ve been through these exact same symptoms before. The resident finished listening to my heart and lungs and stepped out to get his attending and a nurse. They set up the portable ultrasound (attached to a laptop) and I laid there, waiting for the inevitable news. It didn’t come.

They saw the heartbeat.

I didn’t get to see it because of the equipment (ER versus obstetrics), so I was staring at the table as the three of them stared at the laptop monitor. After a moment, I looked up and there were three people looking at the image on the screen, smiling and nodding and saying, "There it is."

Relief.

The heart rate was in the 140s, which I gather is a little low, but not a big concern. The embryo is measuring 6 weeks 4 days and I am 7 weeks 1 day, but again, they said it wasn't a big concern. So, all good news there. I'm still bleeding a little and the doctor suggested it might be the placenta imbedding, so we'll see. They're calling it a “threatened miscarriage,” which seems… well… threatening, but I was assured that seeing the heartbeat gives me a 95% chance of carrying to term. Ninety-five percent sounds pretty good to me.

The resident (a really sweet guy, which has not been my general experience with military health care) was shocked that I wasn’t being seen sooner than ten weeks, given my age and history of miscarriage. He went out the nurse's station, pulled up the appointments and got me one for this Thursday. More good news. I'll be going to the naval hospital rather than my doctor's office, but right now I'm okay with that. And if I have a good experience with them on Thursday, I may be content to stay put rather than seek out a civilian doctor.

Now I'm just hoping the bleeding stops so I can relax. I’m probably fooling myself—“relax” is not likely to be a word in my vocabulary in the next eight months—but I’ll take it one day at a time. After all, they saw a heartbeat.

Maybe I’ll get to see it on Thursday.

Blood (7w0d)

Red blood. Not a lot, but enough. I’m going to the hospital tomorrow.

Cry Me a River (6w6d)

I think the pregnancy hormones are kicking in. I feel weepy today, ready to break down if someone looks at me funny.

I have all these irrational fears that I’m not really pregnant, probably because everyone thinks it’s strange that I don’t have morning sickness. My other pregnancy “symptoms” are so mild I wouldn’t think I was pregnant if not for the fact that I haven’t had my period in seven weeks. I took another pregnancy test this morning—like I said, I’m irrational—because I had one left and because I just needed some sort of tangible reassurance. Of course it was positive—I really am pregnant, after all—but it wasn’t the reassurance I needed.

Between the strange off-and-on cramping I’ve had and a couple of days of light brown spotting, I think I’m going to call the doctor’s office Monday and see what it’ll take to convince them to do an ultrasound. I know they’re going to tell me to go to the ER at the hospital and I hate that—I hate hospitals to begin with, but this isn’t an emergency, it’s just me wanting a little comfort. That’s all.

I need to see that heartbeat. I need to know it’s real. And the thought of having to wait at least three weeks (and probably longer, since I doubt they’ll do an ultrasound at my first prenatal visit) is enough to make me cry.

Identity Crisis? (6w4d)

I’ve known I’m pregnant for three weeks today. Twenty-one days to adjust to the idea of how much my life will change next spring. Three weeks is not really enough time to process that kind of information, really. Perhaps that’s why gestation of a human being takes thirty-eight weeks.

My emotions swing from one extreme to another. I am, of course, very happy. Quietly, peacefully happy. That is to be expected since this was what I was trying for. Less expected are the other emotions that have me wondering what the hell I’m doing having a child now, at my age, with my background, with my independent nature. I know it’s just fear that sets me on that path of questioning. Fear I won’t do it right. Fear I’ll lose myself, the person I’ve been for my entire adult life. Fear my kid will grow up to hate me. Fear I’ll screw it all up. Silly, I know. Or is it?

Regardless of how far women have come in the world, we still are expected to be the nurturers, to provide the bulk of the parenting responsibilities, to “know” how to do it all. I don’t know how to do any of it. I’ve never even changed a diaper. I’m supposed to know how to do that, right? Jay is the father, but he isn’t expected to know anything. That hardly seems fair.

I have months to work all this out in my mind and heart—and years of practice to get it as right as I can. As I told a friend, I don’t really have any good role models for the kind of mother I want to be. My mother certainly wasn’t one and I don’t see anyone who is doing it the way I want to do it. Of course, that means I have to make my own path and do it my way. I’m used to that. I don’t know yet what kind of mother I’ll be, but hopefully I’ll be a good one without losing myself.

Assume the Position (6w1d)

How perfect is this maternity T-shirt for an erotica writer?



(Found at Babies N Bellies.)

Seeing Red (6w0d)

Another week down, though it’s still so early in my pregnancy it doesn’t seem possible I’ve known for over two and a half weeks. I’ve been doing so well with not having any symptoms beyond the sore breasts and fatigue and mild cramping. It’s almost too good to be true. I’ve actually been enjoying this being pregnant thing.

Then, this afternoon, I saw red.

Just a little, but enough to startle me. Where did that come from? Why? The cramping continues, intermittently, a little more intense than it’s been in previous days. Or am I being paranoid? I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. But I worry.

As I always do when I’m concerned about something, I turned to my greatest comfort—the internet. WebMd, Pregnancy.org, What to Expect—they offer me what I need most—facts, statistics, information. They reassure me that what I’m experiencing is normal for the first trimester and the odds of it being something more serious, a miscarriage or ectopic pregnancy, are not likely. Probably.

Finding Home (5w5d)

For a year or so now, Jay and I have been contemplating moving out of our little suburb in Chesapeake and into Norfolk’s Ghent or West Ghent neighborhoods. Actually, I think Jay just goes along with my whims as I contemplate being able to walk to the neighborhood coffee shop, movie theater and a couple of my favorite restaurants. Being able to ride a bike down tree-lined streets (instead of making a continuous loop in our subdivision) or go for a long walk and end up in a wildlife preserve appeals to me, as well. And did I mention the coffee shops? A Starbucks and an independent right there within walking distance. A little slice of heaven just for me. Oh, and Jay would be very close to work, too.

I had lunch with Jae and Nick today at one of my favorite places and then we went for a walk to hunt down houses (and work off lunch). For the first time, I really considered something else that’s within walking distance of West Ghent— an elementary school. I never really noticed it before today, though I’ve walked that neighborhood many times. But now I have a reason to notice it.

It was easy enough to envision walking Junior to school in the morning and then hopping on my bike (that I don’t own yet) and heading to the coffee shop to write. It was easy to imagine having Nick’s daughter Cierra come play in the backyard while my little one (and Jae’s little one) try to keep up with her. It is easy to see us living in West Ghent, amongst the Obama 2008 signs and neighbors who walk dogs in strollers and kids who leave their toys in the front yard.

I love where we live now for the backyard and the trees and the wildlife who visits my back door. But I’m so over living in the suburbs where everything requires a drive . Still, we’ve lived here for eight years and it is home, though my heart longs for a house with character and history. I don’t really have a big incentive to move— coffee within walking distance isn't really a reason to pack up the belongings and move across town. And unless they take down all the trees behind my house— which I worry they will eventually— I still have my favorite things right in my backyard. But now, envisioning that morning walk to kindergarten and the afternoon walk home… that feels like the right incentive to find the place we really belong.

A Conversation at Starbucks (5w3d)

Barista Boy #1 (doesn’t know I’m pregnant): What would you like today?

Me: A venti decaf black and white mocha.

Barista Boy #2 (knows I’m pregnant): You’re having decaf? Oh! Right! Decaf!

Me: Yes. It’s decaf from now on.

Barista Girl #1 (knows I’m pregnant): She’s having a Starbucks baby!

Me: Who will probably smell like coffee.

Barista Boy #1 (clearly confused): That’s… weird.

(later)

Barista Boy #1 (now knows I’m pregnant): I’m sorry I said it would be weird if your baby smelled like coffee.

Me: It’s okay.

Barista Boy #1 (so earnestly): I’m sure it’ll be a cute baby and no one will make fun of it for smelling like coffee.

Me: I think you should quit while you’re ahead.

Prenatal Care... Eventually (5w2d)

Dealing with the military healthcare system will be the most trying thing about pregnancy. I have very little experience with being pregnant, but I can still state this with utmost confidence. It took me nearly an hour and three phone calls to schedule my first prenatal appointment. Despite my "advanced maternal age" and some medical history that might make this a high-risk pregnancy, I was told they will not see me, under any circumstances, before my tenth week of pregnancy. If I have any complications, I'm to go to the naval hospital. Period. Go figure.

So, my first prenatal appointment is schedule for September 16. That seems very, very far away, all things considered. I'm not one of "those" women who wants a doctor attached to my side from the moment the two lines appear on the pregnancy test until Junior graduates from high school, but it would be nice to simply have confirmation that I have medical care. Maybe see the embryo on an ultrasound and know it's attached properly. Have someone address my concerns about genetic testing face-to-face instead of giving me some vague (and incorrect) time frame over the phone. Everyone (medical community, included) acts like the fact I'm 41 and pregnant is the equivalent of the sky falling, so why doesn't the medical community think it's necessary to see me before the tenth week?

Ah, right, miscarriage. Why bother seeing me, doing any sort of testing beyond the basic pregnancy test, giving me any kind of reassurance, when the odds that I'll miscarry before week 10 are around 50%, maybe higher. So, I get it-- it's not fiscally responsible to waste resources on women who might miscarry before the end of the first trimester anyway. Of course, there's not a lot they can do for me at this stage. I know that.

But a little peace of mind would go a long way right now.

Breaking Glass (5w1d)

Last night, despite being exhausted, I stayed up until 1 AM reading Jeannette Walls’ The Glass Castle. It was recommended to me at least a year ago, but I put off reading it because of the topic—a dysfunctional family. When you come from one, you find reading about someone else’s less than entertaining. Finally, after running across the book on a couple of occasions recently, I decided I needed to read it. I read about a third of it on Friday and finished it last night.

Walls’ family dysfunction is a bit more glamorous than most. Sure, there are the usual hallmarks of a troubled family—alcoholism, poverty and what surely must have been mental illness—but there were also the adventures that took them across the country. Walls writes in a straightforward way without pointing fingers. The book is dedicated to her family, including her parents.

I found myself hating her mother and father. How dare they? I kept asking myself. How dare they risk their children’s lives, health and safety for their own whims? How dare they be so irresponsible with money? But Walls writes of her parents with love and there is forgiveness in her voice. I suppose I can understand that, to a point. She has made a very successful life for herself and surely the strength she gained from surviving a childhood spent in abject poverty living with parents who were unbalanced (though she would likely call them free spirits) is partially responsible for the person she has become. Still, I mourn the loss of her childhood and that of her siblings, who suffered along with her with there was no need to suffer at all. I am not forgiving.

I want to hope the shadow of my own childhood won’t fall on my child. I’ll be a better parent, right? I’ll be more loving and caring, more supportive. I’ll listen instead of yell. I’ll hug instead of ignoring. I’ll say “I love you.” I won’t take my own issues and dysfunctions and fears and disappointments out on my kid. I won’t.

I won’t.

Ask and I Shall Receive? (5w1d)

Yesterday, I could barely keep my eyes open while I was at Starbucks, trying to work. Today, twenty-four hours later, I seem to have an amazing amount of energy. I accomplished a bunch of stuff at home this morning and now I’m working right along at Starbucks. What the hell? I do not think I understand this pregnancy thing at all.

Of course, I’m just a little bit pregnant. My recent fatigue might not have anything to do with being pregnant. Likewise, my burst of energy today might be just that little rush before the big, bad, horrible morning sickness sets in. It’s hard to know for sure, so I’m trying not to take my newfound energy for granted. There is so much to do in the next eight months!

Symptoms (5w0d)

I’m five weeks pregnant today. That hardly seems like much at all, but I feel like I’ve known for a very long time. According to one of the multitude of pregnancy sites, baby is the size of a sesame seed now. Last week, baby was the size of a poppy seed. What’s in store for next week, a sunflower seed? Interesting, this comparison to seeds. Also, I really need to come up with a better nickname than "baby."

I’ve been trying to sort out what might be legitimate pregnancy symptoms from just my body doing it’s thing. So far, my breasts are PMSy tender. I’m tired all the freakin’ time (which I keep saying is just me being lazy, but I really do hate feeling like I have no energy). For the past three days, I’ve had a little queasiness. I wouldn’t call it nausea or even morning sickness, just the feeling I get when I’ve been in the sun too long or haven’t eaten in awhile. A little food in my stomach seems to take care of it. I’m hopeful that I won’t get full-blown morning sickness. Aches and pains are manageable, but I have a tough time functioning with nausea. We’ll see.

The most worrisome symptom is the cramping I’m getting every once in awhile. It feels suspiciously like menstrual cramps, so every time I go to the bathroom I expect to see blood. Always the researcher, I’ve read that cramping is normal… but normal can feel scary. I try not to worry, but I think part of me isn’t fully committed to this pregnancy yet. I’m afraid to get my hopes up, knowing the statistics and the risks. Part of me feels guilty about that, as if I’m not really wanting to be pregnant and if I don’t want to be pregnant, maybe I can influence something “bad” to happen. They say you get irrational (crazy) during pregnancy and since that is a completely irrational thought, I guess they’re right.

But I’ve made it to week five and my symptoms are practically nonexistent. I suppose there’s a good chance this is the calm before the storm, but I can hope. I really would like to get my energy back, though. There’s so much to do and suddenly I feel like I’m on a very tight deadline.

Warding Off the Fear (4w6d)

It’s still so early in my pregnancy that I know I could be un-pregnant tomorrow. That fear stays with me. I’ve been there before. Even though the first trimester is considered the most worrisome, I imagine I will carry that lump of fear with me throughout the next eight months. How can I not? Age, previous miscarriage, fibroids—these things conspire against me.

I have gone to the bookstore three times now to look at pregnancy books. Each time, I have walked out without buying anything except the practical little guide Pregnancy Do’s and Don’ts, just because I wanted a handy reference. (Though the general consensus seems to be when in doubt to avoid most things-- and there is a lot of doubt about a lot of things.) The rest of the books scare me with all their dire warnings and grim reminders of all the things that could go wrong. Sheri said those books are called What to Expect When You’re Expecting Very Terrible Bad Things to Happen. That seems about right.

For now, I have come up with a surefire cure to ward off my fears of something bad happening: I tell someone I’m pregnant.

I had intended to wait a few weeks, at least until after my first prenatal appointment, before I started telling people. At this point, with a knot of fear in my stomach that is a hundred times larger than the tiny embryo growing below, the only thing that I will hold off on doing until after my first prenatal appointment is making this blog public. Because every time I tell someone I’m pregnant and feel their good wishes and positive energy, I feel better. Protected.

Good diet, proactive health care, regular exercise and caution in dealing with the hazards of life may be the key to a healthy, successful pregnancy, but I will take good karma, guardian angels and happy thoughts, too. Every little bit helps.

It's Official (4w5d)

So, I’m officially pregnant according to the military health care system. After a brief appointment that included a pregnancy test and a check of my vitals, as well as verification that all the medications I’m taking are safe during pregnancy (which I already knew they were), I was sent on my way with a pamphlet printed in what looks like Comic Sans font congratulating me on my pregnancy and giving me the usual basic information as well as the usual vague, but certainly dire, warnings. In 48 hours I can schedule my first prenatal appointment.

When the charge nurse came in to give me my test results, she acted rather grim. Pushing the sheet of paper across the desk and putting her finger under the word POSITIVE, she said, “The test is positive. You’re pregnant.”

I blinked and smiled. I knew I was pregnant, of course, but couldn’t figure out why she seemed so somber. “Good!” I said, enthusiastically. I may have even added a thumbs up for emphasis.

“Oh, you’re happy about it? This is a good thing?” She said, smiling, but looking a bit confused.

“Definitely. We’ve been trying,” I told her. Then, as if to ease her discomfort, I explained how it happened on a mid-deployment getaway. It didn't seem to make her feel any better.

“Oh. Well, I never know whether it’s a good thing or not.”

I suppose I could understand that, and her attempt at remaining neutral, but the pamphlet she gave me said “CONGRATULATIONS from the entire staff!” across the top. Talk about mixed messages.

After leaving the doctor’s office, I pondered why she would think I’d be anything but happy. I’m clearly not a fresh young Navy bride who couldn’t afford a box of diapers much less a crib. Is it because of my age? I suppose I’ll have many months to consider people’s reactions to the news that I’m expecting. At least, I hope I have these months to ponder.

The last time I was pregnant, in 1997, I didn’t make it from the pregnancy test appointment to the prenatal appointment. I had a miscarriage in between. So, now that the doctor’s office has confirmed I’m pregnant, here is my first mile marker of many to come: to make it to the first prenatal appointment.

Spring Flowers in August (4w4d)

Jay sent me flowers today. Red tulips and purplish-blue irises. They were a bit droopy from the heat when they arrived, but after a good watering they have filled out and look beautiful. I would rather Jay be here for all of this pregnancy stuff, but I look at the flowers he sent and I smile. Spring flowers to remind of my spring due date. It seems forever away, but I know the time will slip by and I will wonder where these months went.

Jay will be home from deployment at the beginning of my second trimester, but gone again here and there for the rest of my pregnancy and deployed again shortly after I deliver. Those thoughts scare me. I was alone when I took my pregnancy test and it’s a long and challenging road ahead where I’ll be alone for many difficult and scary things less exciting than finding out I’m pregnant, but this is our life in the Navy.

I’m tough. I’m strong. I can do this. But I’m girl, and I like flowers, too.

What Others Are Saying (4w3d)

I’ve started telling people close to me, as well as some blogging friends. I haven’t yet said anything on my blog or made this blog public, but here is what others have written. I want to keep a record of it because reading their words makes me smile. I really am pregnant.

On Sommer’s blog:

in other exciting news, a friend got some very good news and i am vicariously doing the happy dance for her. so yay her. and yay me for good news to celebrate that isn't even mine.


On Jae’s blog:

My best pal has revealed that she is with child, knocked-up, pregnant! I’m not sure I’ve ever been so elated over such news, not even from my brother. I actually jumped up and down when I was told. I’ve caught myself smiling all day. Without permission, I called a friend just because I had to tell someone.

She is going to be a great mother. Her husband, a wonderful father. That kid will have all the love, compassion, understanding and education that she and I so wanted in our own lives.

Advice (4w2d)

I am barely four weeks pregnant (two weeks since conception) and already the advice is coming. The “baby” is little more than a cluster of cells hopefully embedded in my uterus and I haven’t even experienced any symptoms (except wanting to sleep all the time) and people are already offering advice.

From the baristas at Starbucks: A little caffeine won’t hurt me.

From my wonderful veterinarian, Dr. Smithey: the toxoplasmosis lecture.

From my writer friend Sommer: sleep as much as possible, babies suck your brain dry.

From my writer friend Alana: ignore all the advice I’m going to get.

From pretty much everyone: get a bigger car!

I know at some point, the well-meaning advice will start to annoy me. I will resent anyone telling me what to put in (or do to) my body, how to take care of myself, my pregnancy, my child, my life. I’m not a good advice-taker anyway. I rarely ask for it—maybe because I rarely follow it. I know my own path most of the time.

But right now I’m enjoying the advice. I’m listening and nodding and smiling in appreciation. Right now, I’m just so amazed I’m actually pregnant that the advice feels like a gift.

Waiting for Confirmation (4w0d)

I have a doctor’s appointment Thursday afternoon to confirm I’m pregnant. Because, you know, I’m just a dumb woman who took a couple of tests and I can’t be trusted to know I’m actually pregnant until the lab at the doctor’s office does the same test and says it’s true. Then I can begin dealing with the medical healthcare system. Fun!

I have moments, hours even, when I forget I’m pregnant. I guess that’s not unusual, given that I don’t have any symptoms yet. My period isn’t even technically late yet. But I’m definitely pregnant. The question is whether I will stay this way. I haven’t had the best luck in the past, but somehow things seem to be aligned this time around. Strange coincidences abound. I think that’s why I tested so early.

When we lived in Charleston, I was lucky enough to have a wonderful civilian doctor within the military health care system. Dr. Belil is Algerian with a beautiful, lilting French accent. “Mrs. Wright,” she would say, “you have allergies and should not have pets!” I didn’t listen to her, but I still liked her. She is the best doctor I’ve ever had—a true believer in the mind/body connection and a wonderful, warm and funny woman.

We left Charleston in January 2000 and I sent Dr. Belil a couple of Christmas cards over the years. That was the extent of our contact in over eight years until she called me on July 11. I remember the date because my wallet was stolen on July 10 and when I heard her message: “Kristina, you’ll never believe this!” I at first thought it was someone calling to say my wallet had been turned in. Then I recognized the voice as her message went on to say she’d found my address and looked up my phone number. She wanted to catch up.

We missed each other's phone calls a couple of times over the next few days and then she left for Europe, but the coincidence struck me, even then. Dr. Belil was the one who told me I was pregnant when I lived in Charleston. She was the one who helped me deal with the aftermath when I had a miscarriage that left me devastated. She was there, this calm and peaceful woman, to comfort me. The fact that she called me a week or so before I conceived just seems like a sign. If you believe in such things. Which I do.

I told someone Dr. Belil is my guardian angel. Perhaps she is. There are others, too, I think. I’m hopeful my guardians will get me and baby through this pregnancy safe and healthy. I’m trying to be at peace with all of this, not stress and worry, as is my nature. What will be will be, and all that. It’s hard. If this works out, my life will be forever changed. Scary. Exciting. Scary. Am I ready for it? Are we ready for it? I hope so. I think so. I guess we’ll find out.

,

Still (3w5d)

I took another First Response test. No doubt this time—two pink lines. I’m pregnant.

Still.

The Magic Word (3w3d)

This will likely end up on a blog at some point, but right now it’s just a Word document. I took a pregnancy test at 10:30 this evening (well, yesterday evening), expecting it to be negative. I’m only ten days past ovulation, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyway. I just had a feeling… call it intuition or impatience or insomnia. 

First Response: one solid pink line and… one very, very faint pink line. Could it mean I’m pregnant?



I studied those lines for several minutes, convinced I was imagining the second line. I took a couple of pictures, just in case, since Jay is deployed. I need a record of the event, right? I still couldn’t tell. The line got darker over an hour or so, which doesn’t mean anything, I know. The test guidelines are very clear about not attempting to read the test after an hour. I could see something, though. The kit said if there was even a faint line, I was pregnant. But how faint is faint? I knew I couldn’t go to bed and sleep until I took another test. I never really enjoyed chemistry and this was why—inconclusive results.

I had the First Response test lying around from months past, but my ovulation predictor kit came with a free pregnancy test. Thankfully, it was a Clearblue Digital. There was no question this time.  The chemistry experiment was successful.

Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.



The word looks strange if you stare at it long enough, as I have been for the last thirty minutes. Pregnant. I don’t know when the digital stops showing the result, but it’s still there. Pregnant.

It seems I’m pregnant. I’m 41 and I’m pregnant. After only having two months to try while Jay was home, one of those when I had pneumonia, I didn’t think it would happen until the end of this year. Maybe even next year. Maybe never. But it was a mid-deployment rendezvous in St. Augustine, Florida that got us here.

Pregnant.