The first trimester of a pregnancy (one’s first, in my case) can be a lonely time. If it was planned, the exaltation in actually managing to conceive on purpose is soon checked by the realization that:
- One’s husband/partner is frustratingly pragmatic about not getting too excited, making too many plans, or telling too many (or any) people until the pregnancy progresses further.
- One generally doesn’t (tactfully) Facebook the news right after the pee-stick changes, even though one feels like doing so (just after skywriting the news and printing up “We’re Pregnant!!!” T-shirts)
- Close friends/confidantes/close relatives agree with the cautious approach of one’s husband in keeping things under wraps until you’ve at least seen the doctor.
An adult, educated woman who intentionally gets pregnant is most-likely aware of the many pitfalls that can occur in the early days of pregnancy. She probably has a philosophical approach outlined that is intended to accommodate the uncertainty of the time, the possibility of miscarriage or other travails, and to maintain a mental space for the “if at first you don’t succeed, try try again” attitude tempered with that pragmatism mentioned above.
That’s all well and good, but once the stick shows “positive”, it’s a whole new game.
What one knows can be quite different from what one feels…and to complicate things further, a recurring bit of advice from wiser women than oneself is that one should enjoy every moment of your pregnancy. Pragmatism and the full-body-embrace-of-living-and-loving-the-moment make odd bedfellows.
And yet it happens. And it generally works. I, lots of women, and Walt Whitman are okay with the fact that sometimes we contradict ourselves. We’re manifold. Deal with it.
It does, however, intensify the level of introspection in this trimester.
I don’t mean to be a downer. From the get-go, I was so hopeful and so pumped that the pregnancy test changed color…at first, I was absolutely (inexplicably) convinced that I’d willed the stick to change color and that perhaps I wasn’t actually pregnant. For one, it had been too easy. Fun, happy lovin’ sans condoms for a couple of weeks. No stress. No angst. No months and months of trying to conceive and considering fertility treatments and all the drama that is implied to be part and parcel for the 30-something-would-be-parents.
And after over half my life of trying not to get pregnant, and being successful, I was surprised that infertility wasn’t part of that ‘success’. Condoms really work, folks. Wow. Mindblowingly simple.
And not to mention that I still wake up sometimes and think “Holy crap! I’m married! That’s AWESOME!!!!”… getting my mind around the fact that I’m somehow ‘allowed’ to be married (strange as that sounds) took some time… then pregnancy?!? Wow.
And then there’s the realization that creation is going on in your uterus. In your uterus. That’s some real Carl Sagan shit right there.
So the future unfolds, you’re blown away by your new-found superpowers, you’re pumped, and eventually (usually after hearing the heartbeat for the first time), your partner allows him/herself to be psyched.
Being who I am, I emailed Mom and Dad the second my urine produced that elusive 2nd pink line. And my bestie. And another couple girlfriends.
Being where I am, however, meant that we didn’t tell my Man’s parents or family until we had heard the heartbeat and we had the first ultrasound in hand to show them. It was very special when we did share the news with them, but the delay was not in my nature. Even close Portuguese friends were all very nonchalant about the fact that we didn’t say anything about the pregnancy for months.
…I’ll possibly continue this train of thought later 🙂 Until then, keep on keepin’ on!