This Time Last Year
It was early. Jason was still in bed and the curtains were still drawn shut, so there was barely any light coming into the hotel room. We were in Savannah, Georgia on our last full day before driving 12 or so hours back to Pennsylvania to wrap up our #toffsgosouth trip.
I had been feeling a little off the evening before and woke up feeling a little sick. Was it the gumbo? Maybe. But I had a feeling it was something a little more consequential. I crawled out of bed, stumbled over our suitcases and tiptoed to the bathroom. This time, I wasn't trying to be quiet so that Jason could sleep. I was trying to be quiet so I didn't have to explain what I was doing. I was nervous. I had bought a pregnancy test earlier in the week, so I pulled it out, used it and waited the longest two minutes I've ever known.
I was kind of heartbroken, but we'd only just started trying, so I crawled back in to bed, took a few deep breaths and figured there's always next month. Truthfully, I expected it to take a few months anyway. But in my heart, I wish it didn't.
We continued our trip as normal. I can't remember if I told Jason about that test and, looking back, it didn't matter. We arrived back in Pennsylvania and then headed back to New York and back to our home.
A few days later, I was still feeling just ... off. Not sick, not tired, just a little weird. A little not normal. I told Jason and he suggested I take another test. Why not, right?
Why not was the difficult part to think about, to talk about. Even though we just started trying, I'd had visions of being a mom since I was very young. It was arguably the most important goal I'd had. And, while I had no reason to believe it wasn't going to happen, I had very real fears that it'd be difficult, that I'd experience disappointment and devastation, that I wouldn't be what I knew I was supposed to be.
But I tried my best to reconcile those fears and root myself in reality. And I took the test. Again, the longest two minutes I'd ever known.
I was in shock. Tears immediately filled my eyes. I don't think I really believed it. And, truthfully, it took several months to really, completely believe it was happening.
I did my best to move my legs - one in front of the other - and walk to the bedroom where Jason was. At this point I was full-on crying. 'It's positive,' I heard my voice say.
He thought my tears were an indication of the opposite, so he was just as surprised as I was. He teared up, I continued crying and we hugged. This was happening. I took another test or two a few days later and then a few weeks later just to make sure.
It still all feels like a dream sometimes. Not a day goes by that I don't recognize how lucky I am to have had the experience I had. I know many women, both personally and anecdotally, who had very different, very difficult experiences. My heart goes out to them and simultaneously sinks into my gut when I think about what they must feel. I cannot begin to imagine the pain of loss or the anxiety that comes from having trouble conceiving. And I won't pretend I know what I'd do if faced with those hardships. I know, statistically, it is very likely I'll experience something like that in my lifetime. But when the end result is a beautiful, healthy baby? There is nothing I wouldn't do to make it happen.
My first order of business after I found out I was pregnant was to find an OB. And, after our first appointment, the first scan and first test, it was all so real and beautiful and filled me even more than I ever expected it would. I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby. We made a baby.