Three Times a Mom
One year ago today, I found out that I was carrying this precious little nugget. I'd love to tell you about the happy tears I cried, the jumping-up-and-down-joy I felt, the overwhelming gratitude; but that would be a lie. I was crushed. Devastated. Terrified. You see, just two short months before, I'd been in surgery to remove the remains of the last little life we had created but that my body had not sustained. After two years of trying and two miscarriages, I was traumatized and wrung out and I had no other context for pregnancy than pain. I wanted so badly to be pregnant, but when I saw that second line on the test, all I could think was, "I'm going to have another miscarriage and I won't survive it this time." The first word out of my mouth was a curse word, I called my husband crying, and I spent the weekend (and a few more weeks after that) in a depressive funk. It took me months to feel comfortable and confident and to stop being terrified of what