The other night I caught the episode of Friends where Rachel has her baby. Now, it’s no secret that this show is my comfort and happy place, so I’ve seen all of them at least a thousand times. Usually it’s on in the background or as I sleep so I don’t really sit and watch many episodes all the way through anymore. On this particular evening I was feeding Tabby and had the capacity to tune in.
One of my very original blogs from 2016 is about this exact Friends episode, detailing that it was difficult for me to watch because Ben didn’t make it into the world. For so long this was a real trigger for me and elicited a range of negative emotion. Eventually my pain dulled and it became less difficult to endure Rachel giving birth to Emma, but what remained was a constant ache inside of me; a longing that lingered like a thick fog surrounding my body as time ticked on and I got older.
What I hadn’t elaborated on in the last post was that age 40 was my cut off for trying to have another baby. I told Aaron that if it hadn’t happened by then I’d give it up. But 40 snuck up on me too quickly, especially after my last two pregnancy losses in 2019. Like a chokehold, time was squeezing the opportunity out of me so hard that I couldn’t breathe.
With every fiber of my being I wanted to just accept that I’d only birth one living child. That, despite Sam’s sporadic requests to have a sibling and reminiscent comments about his angel brother, I’d finally be strong enough to give up the dream. And every month I’d tell myself that it wasn’t going to happen. I fought the overwhelming temptation to run out and buy pregnancy tests the day my period was due. Some months I lost that fight (thank God for the Dollar Store) and I let myself envision the positive sign on the stick, only to be met with crushing disappointment. This awesome torturous roller coaster ride held me captive until around Mother’s Day 2021.
May. Another month where I couldn’t resist the increasingly ridiculous urge to pee on a stick and most likely derail an otherwise good day for myself. Like almost all previous months there weren’t significant early pregnancy symptoms. Once in a while I thought I’d been slightly queasy and my period was a day or so late but mostly I started to believe it was just my body showing it’s hatred (you know, like it always did). I recall feeling cold over the days prior to this fateful one. Not just chilly, but cold to my bones, no matter how much I bundled myself up or layered my clothes. Honestly I hadn’t equated that to pregnancy but then I succumbed to curiosity and looked up “chills early pregnancy symptom” and it made the list! If you’ve ever been pregnant or remotely close to someone who has you probably know that every generic symptom on the planet is listed under early pregnancy, but this was one of the months I just needed to believe was THE month. So, out came the pregnancy test.
This month, though, was different. It happened finally! A POSITIVE TEST! We were embarking on the coveted journey that I’d been praying so hard for. Joy, worry, anxiety, questions, all flooded my brain in an instant. Nonetheless, I was ready for my Rainbow and I prayed some more; this time for a healthy pregnancy and a live baby.
Now, I can’t keep you on pins and needles wondering how the pregnancy turned out because the rainbow nugget is in about 95% of my social media posts, but I CAN pause here and share my full pregnancy experience in the next post so keep tuning in!
The Reinvented Mom 