I know I’ve been ghost. And there’s a good reason… so let me start by saying this: there are some things that we as women just ‘don’t talk about.’ With the relationship I’ve developed with you all over the years, though, it made me ask myself, ‘why not?’ #Spoileralert…there are some definite TMI moments in the coming paragraphs.
So, I’m on the flight back to STL from Greensboro and I was gassy as hell. Like, gastrointestinal distress. Like call the gas company and tell them they have a new supplier. Both ends. Not cute. I assumed it was the Southern Fried Chicken. Or rather, the Southern Fried Chicken, plus the Country Fried Clam Strips and Catfish I had later that same day. So after an uncomfortable and rather embarrassing flight back to the LOU, I immediately went to pick up Grandma for some quality time – the reason for my extended STL visit. On our way back to Mom’s, we stopped at the grocery store ’cause Grandma wanted a damn scratch off. We separated at the front door, and I made a bee-line for the antacids. Somewhere between the fruit snacks and the tampons I realized I was late. A week late. Like, LATE-LATE, like, ‘awwww shit!’ LATE, and decided to pick up a pregnancy test.
As soon as we got to Mom’s, I ran to the bathroom, ripped open the box and pee’ed on the stick. I was damn near mid-stream when the positive results revealed themselves. I remember grinning from ear to ear before promptly phoning hubby to divulge the good news. We weren’t ‘preventing’, but we also weren’t ‘trying’ so it was a pleasant and much welcomed surprise. I won’t lie though, my thoughts were racing:
1. How in the entire hell will I make it anywhere even 30 minutes late with 2 kiddos?!
2. How could I possibly love another kid as much as I love Gia?! (f’ed up, I know)
3. This needs to happen. But I’m getting my tubes tied immediately following.
4. I don’t wanna get fat.
5. Please lord let this child have more airport manners than Boogie.
6. That post partum shed, tho. I just got back some of my pre-Boog volume!
7. I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant! Oh happy day!
I wanted nothing but to spill the beans to everyone in the house (both my parents, Gia and Gma) but hubby reminded me it was only one positive test. He was right… and I’d knew he’d say that, but it didn’t erase my inclination to wanna BURST at the seams. So I told my Mom I needed to run to Walgreens for some hair conditioner (no line of questioning there!) and that I’d be right back. I got back with 2 early pregnancy tests and took one immediately.
Oh, yeah. This is real. *dougie*
Hubby came over and just as excited as me, was like, ‘you really wanna tell your parents?‘. I was like, HYFR, so we did. And it felt like Christmas morning /a good hair day/the first day of school all rolled up into one . They were elated, but Grandma… homegirl was over the moon. I told everyone to keep it to themselves until we got further along. We immediately went to his Mom’s house to share the good news. We didn’t even have to verbalize it to her… she could see it in our eyes, and was like, ‘you’re not pregnant?!’ Amped.
Fast forward 4 days. In keeping with her vow of discretion, my grandma had told all my uncles… aunts… cousins. I called her and she was like, ‘well… what do you expect… it’s good news and folks don’t get good news now a days!’. I couldn’t blame her and continued to bask in the glorious glow of the moment. I went to bed that night, a bit nauseous and more than content.
The next morning, I woke up and thanked God for many things, among them- such an uneventful and easy early pregnancy. I got up, cut the music on and began to get Gia dressed for the day. While attempting to french braid her hair, I felt a gush of something. *please don’t let it be blood*
I immediately ran to the bathroom and there it was… a good bit of blood. On TEN, I called Hubby who was at his moms. As usual, he calmed me down told me he was on his way… his mom in tow, in the car behind him. He rushed me to the ER and my Mother-In-Law took Boog with her.
Thankfully, there was no wait at the ER and we checked in quickly. We were escorted to a room where I was told to strip down to my panties and socks. They took my blood, administered an IV and had me wait for about an hour. The nurse came in and informed me that they’d need to administer a urinary catheter as well. I was like, ‘for why’, and she was like, ‘to make your uterus more visible’. LAWD. A catheter?! Nothing you want. Ever. Not never. I was examined, given an ultrasound and four hours later, diagnosed with a ‘threatened miscarriage’ and sent home. When we got back to my mom’s, I looked at hubby and told him I didn’t feel pregnant… no porno boobs, no urgency to pee, no nausea. I felt empty and for the first time that day, I cried (if you don’t count that single, solitary tear that fell from my eye when the nurse ripped the catheter from my urinary tract). All the early preggo symptoms had vanished. It was over. Not hearing it, he told me we ‘didn’t know anything for sure‘ and would need to wait. ‘Try not to worry’, he said. From Friday to Saturday I stayed in bed… feet up, eating, chilling… no cramps, no bleeding. I was cautiously hopeful. And then it happened. Last night, I began having what were unmistakably similar to contractions and bleeding excessively. Any hope I was holding out… dashed.
I can’t lie. It’s been very difficult. I had been on the forums, reading about others who’d experienced bleeding in early pregnancy, finding solace in the success stories and attempting to ignore the ones that ended tragically, but all the while feeling impending doom… and guilt from being on the forums in the first place… nothing good ever comes from that. I’m sad. Very sad. I had only just wrapped my mind around it… being a mom of two… holding an infant again… We want Gia to have a sibling and when the time is right, it will happen and it will be awesome. I’m confident in that.
For those of you going through this, please know that no matter how many times you hear, ‘it’s so commonplace’, or ‘whatever’s meant to be will be’ or, ‘thank goodness it happened so early, or ‘this shit happens’… that it’s still okay to be upset. To grieve. I’m familiar with the data. I entirely understand how statistically common it all is. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. Not right now.