At my two-month checkup after giving birth earlier this year, my OB/GYN told me I could get pregnant again before I even got my period back. I kind of rolled my eyes at her and said, “Are you serious? Yeah, I don’t think that will be happening.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said. I countered by reminding her it had taken me two years to finally get a pregnancy to stick. “You never know,” she said. I dismissed her advice. Given the fact that I had beaten the odds with my son at every turn, as I’ve detailed throughout my early pregnancy, I really didn’t think I’d have the luck to beat the odds again.
I spent the first few months as a new mother panicking about the idea of raising an only child. I worried that he would be spoiled, unable to socialize with others, not having any playmates growing up. I worried that in old age he would be solely responsible for my husband and I, that he would have no one else to confide in. I thought about my relationship with my sister, and my husband’s with his siblings, and I wanted those same bonds to exist for my son. And I dismissed my feelings and resigned myself to being a great mom even if that meant only being a mom of one.
Well, here I am, 12 weeks pregnant, against all odds. I am still holding my breath, as if none of it seems real. And knowing what lies at the end of the road, I’m a little more nervous about another c-section. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. My OB/GYN group this time around is taking a wait-and-see approach to my care; “It’s possible you just make small babies,” one doctor said. “That’s just how your body works.” At this point I feel utterly clueless about how my body works. Why now and not four years ago? What about my body is so different? It’s older now; I thought you were supposed to be more fertile when you’re young?
I’m already fielding questions, again somewhat unexpected, that seem somewhat insensitive to the infertilite journey. “Well, I heard your body is more fertile after being pregnant,” said one nurse. This doesn’t seem like a statement of fact to me; and she’s a nurse. “Are you still considered high risk even though you’ve already been stretched out?” said another person. And my answer: “Yes, I am,” because the uterus returns to its usual size after pregnancy, which for me is the shape of a deflated balloon. A little deflated banana balloon.
Here we go again! I will be tracking both responses to my pregnancy as well as observations going through this for a second time. For me it is all about getting through one day at a time, and being thankful for the family I’ve been blessed with. And my wish for you is to give you Hope, that though it seems preposterous, though it seems far-fetched, though it’s something you might roll your eyes at, it’ll happen for you and sometimes when you least expect it.