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.

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.

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.

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