A little over a week ago, I had a baby.
It is strange to say that so publicly now.
I got pregnant in November, about a year from my very first pregnancy loss and five months shy of my 39th birthday.
Pregnancy after loss is tentative, full of uncertainty and fear. It's nine months of hoping for, but not really planning for or expecting, a positive outcome. For us, there was no Facebook ultrasound photo, no letterboard announcement, no pinterest nursery board. Even as each milestone came and went, I continued to buffer my sentences with "if": If we have a baby, we can use the downstairs bedroom instead of the loft. If we have a baby, it would be good to reorganize the living room. If — always if. Even when I did start telling people — and stripping the awkward "if" from my vocabulary — I never really quite believed it. Not until she was here.
It felt rational to approach this pregnancy with caution given that "all the things that can go wrong" weren't merely theoretical in my case; I lived them more than once, defying the common wisdom that after one loss you're (statistically) due a viable pregnancy. I never found out the cause of either of my miscarriages — was it a blighted ovum? A chromosomal issue? Did my HCG not rise as expected? Was my progesterone low? There were no tests, no ultrasounds to refer back to. Over the year following the last loss I turned these questions over in my mind repeatedly, getting no closer to a working theory. Lying awake at night I worried it was something that would happen over and over again, until I decided to stop hurting myself and give up.
And yet here we were again, rolling the dice.
For this pregnancy, the clinic where I did my recurrent loss testing suggested the TLC protocol — close monitoring that includes early ultrasounds, measurement of beta HCG levels, and a willingness to try low risk interventions. And so the first trimester was marked by many doctors appointments, each feeling like a test to pass or fail.
I told myself that even if this pregnancy didn't last the monitoring was worthwhile because I would end up with data on what happened, and be able to learn something from it. This gave me a mission even in the absence of genuine hope.
Mostly I put the possibility of motherhood out of my mind and focused on work and house planning in those first months. Unlike my other pregnancies, I was sick almost immediately with nausea that lasted throughout the day. I became averse to nearly all foods aside from toast and yogurt, and trying to eat enough was a constant effort. As difficult as that was, I appreciated the distracting aspect of all-day morning sickness as it afforded me little time or energy to worry about anything else.
Early appointments came and went. The HCG levels were strong. We saw a heartbeat on the very first early ultrasound. At the second early ultrasound, she waved her arms in the air. The heartbeat continued to be strong. The reproductive endocrinologist said although there were no guarantees, the data indicated a 90% chance that this pregnancy would progress to term. We picked a hospital to deliver at and transferred to a regular obstetrician.
I let myself enjoy hope, as dangerous as that felt. And things went from there.
I plan to write more extensively about motherhood and pregnancy as we get settled into this new life. But for now here are some thoughts in the second week of parenthood:
Alice came into the world after 26 hours of labor. It is the hardest thing I've ever done.
Breastfeeding is not as straightforward as people make it out to be.
Caring for a newborn is dizzying and hard, and yet I know I will miss this time one day. I wonder what kind of person she will become. I think of her growing up and moving away, and I already miss her.
I will always be connected to those who suffered on this path. It is a huge and heavy thing to stare down the possibility of never being a parent, a reality very few people have had to confront. Our life was forever changed when I lost that very first pregnancy. I was blessed to find a tribe of people who struggled like I did, and they became my friends and confidants. I cherish each and every one of them.
I will never take a single day for granted.
She’s so sweet 💛
Welcome beautiful little one! I love the way you can distill an avalanche of human emotion into a few tenderly crafted paragraphs that convey so much. I always appreciate your candor and look forward to reading your reflections in this new stage of life.