A little rush of adrenaline accompanied my typing out that title. I confess, I was not expecting to ever write that.

But I tell myself every pregnancy that this time I will be better at documenting it, and I never follow through. I am trying to remedy this; I am actually typing this post before we have even announced the pregnancy, so that I may capture all of these thoughts at their freshest.

TMI Warning

I had something happen to me last month that has never happened before–I had a second postpartum period. I always get pregnant after the first. There is never a second postpartum period. There is the first, and then a positive pregnancy test. This has been true five times now.

Having that second cycle was very bittersweet. I have been expecting things to change, because of my age (see this article on conception after age 35) and I really found that second period to be something of an end of an era. But Jeremy and I have discussed our hearts on the matter time and time again, and we were content with whatever the future would bring. Neither of us felt a pressing desire for more children. Neither of us felt a pressing desire to not have more children.

But not too much of an end, clearly, because here we are again. Two days ago I realized that my third postpartum period hadn’t come, and I took a pregnancy test, which was negative. Then, yesterday, on a whim, I took another, and it was positive.

To say I have run the gamut on emotional responses over the past twenty-four hours would certainly be an understatement. The line was so faint that it was hard to believe it wasn’t a fluke; but subsequent tests have darkened. It is true.

I have felt trepidation (how will I manage the first trimester? The last trimester?); fear (I don’t want to give birth again!); excitement (I can’t wait to meet this little one already!); determination (now is the time to get to work, for there is much to do.)

The detail I am most thankful for has been that the positive test came on February 14, 2020. Five years earlier, on February 14, 2015, my second miscarriage began. I am grateful for little patterns that line up like this. I found I was pregnant with Clive on the fourth anniversary of my first miscarriage. Eldore was also due on the eleventh anniversary of that date. I never tire of these seemingly trivial details; they are of great encouragement to me.

the best laid plans

Since I have around two weeks until my morning sickness starts, I plan to use that time to stockpile some freezer meals for that tumultuous six to eight weeks where I find it very difficult to cook. I also still have the very easy mealplan I made while pregnant with Beatrice of things I could cook with very little effort that weren’t frozen pizzas.

I’ll also be doing as much planning ahead for school so I can go somewhat on autopilot while I’m sick. We just took a long winter break, so I can’t take another two months off now for the first trimester.

Our current vehicle only fits us as a family of eight, so we will tentatively start looking for something bigger. I’m not really looking forward to this process.

I was going to pack up the mini-crib and turn my little nursery closet into something different. I guess I won’t do that, now.

a bit of honesty for the future me

I am always worried about another loss, but I have a particularly bad feeling about this one. We usually announce our pregnancies right away; I haven’t wanted to, this time. Admittedly, this is partially because I fear people’s responses. Anyway, my “bad feelings” are generally very unreliable. I have bad feelings about everything most of the time. I am not even really sure why I feel compelled to write this down. I guess I want to remember all of the particulars.