I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last week about the day we found out we were pregnant. So much has happened since that day and it has been such a blur that it is only in recent days that my mind has had a chance to reflect.
Firstly, I think Hollywood owes me an apology.
Secondly, Son, if it’s the future and you are reading this……. Stop now.
The movies and all of the stories that I had heard, painted a picture in my mind that I had envisaged for most of my adult life. That romantic and blissfully happy moment when you see 2 little blue lines appear after weeing on a stick. According to that picture in my mind, it would be perfect. An embrace with your partner, tears of joy and utter elation that you had created life. A soft focused pretty little scenario full of rainbows and unicorns.
I didn’t see rainbows.
Our moment went more like this…..
Piss on a stick (as per numerous prior tests we had done due to my “lady problems”)
Walk away expecting, like always, for said piss to result in nothing but a bit of relief that we hadn’t miraculously gotten pregnant (and a touch of fear that maybe my lady bits were really badly broken).
Go to the kitchen, have a chat, almost forget about said piss.
Remember the piss. Go back into the bathroom. See two little blue lines.
Have all blood leave my body and literally loose the ability to speak, function or process thought.
Somehow I made it to the kitchen to find N. Apparently I looked like some sort of catatonic tongue amputee who couldn’t breath.
I must have developed the ability to use sign language as next thing you know we are both in the bathroom, staring at a test that we had expected to go oh so differently.
Here’s where it gets emotionally quite confusing for me. I had no idea what I felt. I knew I still couldn’t talk. Or breath. I also knew that I had never felt such terror and panic in my entire life.
As much as I had always known that one day, I wanted to be a mum, being faced with that little piss on a stick was unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life.
What do we do? We both asked each other when I finally found my tongue again. Neither of us had an answer. There were no tears. There was no romance. There was nothing but utter, primal terror. I think. I’m still not quite sure what to call that emotion.
I do know though, what it was not. It was not what I had envisaged it would be.
It makes me want a refund. I want to have that moment again. This time with tears of happiness and romance and utter elation. And a rainbow… a rainbow would be lovely.
But I cant. That was our moment. Thist is our story. Its not perfect or romantic., but its honest, and real.
I’m sure I’m not alone. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who didn’t experience that fairy tale feeling about 3 minutes after pissing on a stick.
Personally, I think we should be honest about it. As awful as it sounds. This is scary really shit. For me, that day about 4 months ago was just the start of it. I may have found my tongue and slowly learnt to breath again but that panic and sheer terror is still definitely there, every single day.
Maybe that’s what my journey to being a mum is going to be. Mostly terror and panic. With the odd moment of reflection thrown in….