I guess this is a bit of a continuation of last week's "Advanced Beginners" post. I've been thinking a lot about the circumstance of being at the starting line again, but this time with a knapsack of traumatic experiences on my back (and we're not talking one of those little mini backpacks I rocked in the 90s...we're talking like a hard core, forest green, book-schlepping kind of a deal with a lifetime guarantee and my initials embroidered onto it). I approach the possibility of a second time around with such mixed emotions. Just try to imagine the two most diametrically opposed viewpoints on the topic of getting pregnant again and then imagine that I am feeling those both. Simultaneously. Continuously.
We're not quite at the point of starting to try again because I want to give my body a little more time to heal and get back into its own rhythm, but I am aware that it is in the not-too-distant future. The other day I actually found myself getting excited about the thought of buying an ovulation kit. I walked by the aisle of the drug store that used to make me cringe and want to throw things and I felt a tiny spark of the same excited naiveté I experienced almost exactly a year ago at this time when it was my first rodeo. Because no matter what has happened to me, no matter what statistics I have read, no matter how many disheartening stories I have heard, I am still essentially an optimist at heart. I know that things could just as easily work out perfectly as they could terribly and I try to lean towards the "perfectly" side with as much of my might as I can muster.
This is not always easy. I saw a commercial on treadmill the other day (see how I nonchalantly mentioned that I was on the treadmill there like it was super normal for me for more than just the last month or so? nothing to see here, folks, just a gal who goes to the gym on the regular. no big. please hold your applause!) that rendered me That Girl Who Tears Up on the Treadmill (is that a gym archetype? I haven't been going long enough to know). The commercial is basically a big brother and little sister looking at the ornaments on their Christmas tree and the brother is explaining what they represent. There's one that says, "Baby Girl's 1st Christmas" and the little sister asks "Is this mine?" and the brother says, "No, that one is for Alice, but she doesn't know it yet. Mom says she's still cooking" and then they cut to mom smiling knowingly on the sofa and resting her hand on her pregnant belly.
The commercial got to me not for the reasons you might think, but because it made me realize how differently I think now. A few years ago I would have watched that commercial and thought nothing more than that it was cheesy (or maybe I would have even found it kind of sweet). Now I watch that and think things like : that baby is not a guarantee! oh gosh the brother and sister are already so excited what if something happens? how early did she allow herself to buy that ornament? how lucky that she was able to buy it without a second thought! I feel jealous that this imaginary mother in a commercial was confident enough to share with her little children that a baby was coming. I still feel wracked with guilt that my little nieces knew I was pregnant even though it seems that they probably didn't even register the news to begin with. One of the first things I thought when I miscarried was that I had to apologize to my sister-in-law for irreversibly scarring her children (it was a dramatic time). At this point I actually don't know if they ever thought about it or asked about it again or if they just assume the human gestational period is several years and they're still waiting on that dang baby to cook.
Perhaps the part of the loss that still smarts the most is that element of lost innocence regarding pregnancy. I wish I could rewind to the Becca who shared the baby news early and with reckless joy, who made a baby registry online (that i never had the heart to delete), who enthusiastically started filling out a pregnancy journal with no idea she would be leaving six months worth of its pages blank.
I wonder so much about the second time around. Will I ever be able to relax into a pregnancy? Will I be able to tell someone the news without qualifying it? Will there ever be joy without fear? I know to some degree NO woman experiences pregnancy without a bit of anxiety (well maybe a fortunate few have 9 months of Zen, but I haven't met them yet), but I would have loved to have been one of the ones who was nervous based on nothing concrete. However, in the words of my 12th grade English teacher, "If "ifs" and "buts" were beers and nuts, we'd have a hell of a party". I know there is no point in wishing for or wondering how it would have been if only my circumstances were a bit different. All I can do is remain on the constant quest to accept what my experience has been and do my best with what has been dealt.
I do like the feeling of allowing myself to get excited again. I've always liked the feeling of falling in love even if it means your heart could be broken. For love it is always worth it.
We're not quite at the point of starting to try again because I want to give my body a little more time to heal and get back into its own rhythm, but I am aware that it is in the not-too-distant future. The other day I actually found myself getting excited about the thought of buying an ovulation kit. I walked by the aisle of the drug store that used to make me cringe and want to throw things and I felt a tiny spark of the same excited naiveté I experienced almost exactly a year ago at this time when it was my first rodeo. Because no matter what has happened to me, no matter what statistics I have read, no matter how many disheartening stories I have heard, I am still essentially an optimist at heart. I know that things could just as easily work out perfectly as they could terribly and I try to lean towards the "perfectly" side with as much of my might as I can muster.
This is not always easy. I saw a commercial on treadmill the other day (see how I nonchalantly mentioned that I was on the treadmill there like it was super normal for me for more than just the last month or so? nothing to see here, folks, just a gal who goes to the gym on the regular. no big. please hold your applause!) that rendered me That Girl Who Tears Up on the Treadmill (is that a gym archetype? I haven't been going long enough to know). The commercial is basically a big brother and little sister looking at the ornaments on their Christmas tree and the brother is explaining what they represent. There's one that says, "Baby Girl's 1st Christmas" and the little sister asks "Is this mine?" and the brother says, "No, that one is for Alice, but she doesn't know it yet. Mom says she's still cooking" and then they cut to mom smiling knowingly on the sofa and resting her hand on her pregnant belly.
The commercial got to me not for the reasons you might think, but because it made me realize how differently I think now. A few years ago I would have watched that commercial and thought nothing more than that it was cheesy (or maybe I would have even found it kind of sweet). Now I watch that and think things like : that baby is not a guarantee! oh gosh the brother and sister are already so excited what if something happens? how early did she allow herself to buy that ornament? how lucky that she was able to buy it without a second thought! I feel jealous that this imaginary mother in a commercial was confident enough to share with her little children that a baby was coming. I still feel wracked with guilt that my little nieces knew I was pregnant even though it seems that they probably didn't even register the news to begin with. One of the first things I thought when I miscarried was that I had to apologize to my sister-in-law for irreversibly scarring her children (it was a dramatic time). At this point I actually don't know if they ever thought about it or asked about it again or if they just assume the human gestational period is several years and they're still waiting on that dang baby to cook.
Perhaps the part of the loss that still smarts the most is that element of lost innocence regarding pregnancy. I wish I could rewind to the Becca who shared the baby news early and with reckless joy, who made a baby registry online (that i never had the heart to delete), who enthusiastically started filling out a pregnancy journal with no idea she would be leaving six months worth of its pages blank.
I wonder so much about the second time around. Will I ever be able to relax into a pregnancy? Will I be able to tell someone the news without qualifying it? Will there ever be joy without fear? I know to some degree NO woman experiences pregnancy without a bit of anxiety (well maybe a fortunate few have 9 months of Zen, but I haven't met them yet), but I would have loved to have been one of the ones who was nervous based on nothing concrete. However, in the words of my 12th grade English teacher, "If "ifs" and "buts" were beers and nuts, we'd have a hell of a party". I know there is no point in wishing for or wondering how it would have been if only my circumstances were a bit different. All I can do is remain on the constant quest to accept what my experience has been and do my best with what has been dealt.
I do like the feeling of allowing myself to get excited again. I've always liked the feeling of falling in love even if it means your heart could be broken. For love it is always worth it.
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