LESSONS IN LIFE
🌷Type A. Structured. Organized. Controlled. Decisive. Careful. Thoughtful. Diligent. Motivated. Intentional. All words people have used to describe me over my [almost] thirty-eight years of life. Normally, but not always, these words have been used in a positive context. I make good decisions. I get good results. (psych!)
While these characteristics have served me well in my professional life (school, jobs, etc.), they have also been the source of intense anxiety and stress. Over the past few years, I have been forced to face the reality that no matter how structured I am, no matter how intentional I am about my life (not settling on a partner, waiting for my soulmate, waiting to try for children until we were in the right financial and emotional spot,) no matter how many right decisions I made (waiting for the person I wanted to be the father of my children, taking care of my physical and mental health, having a stable job) my fertility was completely out of my control.
In 2022, when Phil and I decided we were ready to have a baby, we got pregnant on our third month of trying. Brilliant! I had a decent understanding of my body; I understood the science behind timing a pregnancy. Phil and I were financially stable, bought a home we loved, and we were in a great, stable, happy marriage. Plus, our dog was fully house trained! OF COURSE we would get pregnant when we tried to get pregnant! We were meant to be parents! We knew we could provide a happy, healthy, stable environment for children! (I’m hoping you’re sensing my sarcasm).
I have wanted to be a mom my entire life (note all the “Baby Megan” pics with her “babies”). I had made the right life decisions, so when I was so ready and excited to be a mom, it would be a no-brainer. I made the right life decisions so I could experience life with children, with my Phillie.
Then, August 2022 came, and we lost our son. Worst day of our lives. And the beginning of the worst two years of our lives. No matter how many different doctors, specialists, and surgeons I saw, no matter how many surgeries I underwent (5), no matter how many rounds of IVF I underwent, no matter how many books I read and studies I wanted to be a part of, no matter HOW HARD I fought, I was NEVER going to be able to carry my own children.
I did not grow up with financial security or stability. But I grew up knowing that if I wanted something, I could at fight for it. Until this moment, I had been able to fight for everything I wanted and get it. No matter how hard I fought, my ability to carry my children was never going to happen. I would never feel my baby kick inside me or feel her/him grow. It is a loss I will never be able to articulate. This loss was nothing I ever imagined. Never in my decades of life did I ever consider this would be taken from me forever.
So here we are. Fifteen weeks pregnant. We are on the precipice of the baby moving inside of Kimmy. I try not to focus on what I don’t have (the ability to carry,) and rather focus on what we do have, and ultimately, which is so much more important (a healthy baby girl on the way.) But all those “controlling” characteristics, they have started to rear their not-always-so-lovely heads. I find myself wanting to know everything. I want to know what Kimmy is feeling, is she sick, what is she craving, does she have indigestion, has she used the home heart monitor, how are her headaches, has she felt any some movement (some women can feel quickening this early). I want to know ALL the things, but then I become conflicted because I don’t want to stress her out, and I know she has an entire life outside of this baby (she has 3 of her own, plus a husband!)
I trust her implicitly. I never once worried about her taking her medications and shots and vitamins over the past 7+ months. I have no concerns about her activity level or diet. In fact, I have NO concerns or questions about her at all (except, of course, wanting her to feel supported and loved through this.) BUT, I want to know all of the things connected to our baby, and my reality is, I can’t, and I never will, during this pregnancy.
Finding someone to carry our child was so difficult. Then, going through all the testing and hoops, just to get to a transfer – it’s exhausting. But, when we got to the point of a transfer, it was so exciting, so exhilarating. It felt like I had run 3 back-to-back ultra-marathons and was crossing the final finish line. We worked so hard, we had gone through so much, but we were *almost* there. When we got pregnant, it was like 30 million pounds were lifted off our shoulders and everything we fought for was finally coming to fruition.
As we settle into this pregnancy, I think the reality of what we are going through is starting to sink in. The excitement and gratitude is there, but now the other feelings of sadness and loss also start to surface.
As you know, feelings are not mutually exclusive. Although I am over-the-moon-light-the-fireworks happy, I am also extremely anxious about the feelings I am missing out on every day. I would give anything to have the backpain, the morning sickness, the swollen feet, just to feel one iota pregnant with my baby girl.
As we head deeper into the second trimester, I am trying to remind myself that, just like so many things, this pregnancy is now out of my control, and remind myself to be grateful for the person that is watching over our little one for the next 5+ months. Easier said than done, sure. “Letting go.” I’ve never been great at that, but a lesson learned at 38 is better than never at all.🌷
