I think something is wrong.
Logic and the many people surrounding me tell me otherwise.
I am only one entity while the logic and people surrounding me are countless.
Who to believe?
I know who I want to believe, but I also know I’m the only one living in my body.
Logic says I have entered that mythical second trimester where the crippling symptoms of early pregnancy are magically lessened and I can actually begin enjoying myself without the constant need of a bucket and antiemetic drugs.
My body says otherwise. Or is that my brain saying otherwise?
I had this overwhelming feeling a week after my positive pregnancy test (okay, seven positive pregnancy tests) that there were only three ways this pregnancy could end, miscarriage, stillbirth or a baby. All of them come with their own pains and difficulties and there is no way to escape emotionally unscathed.
I have already begun to develop a shell around my heart. I haven’t heard a heartbeat, seen the flickering of life on an ultrasound screen or felt the tiny little bubbles of a baby moving inside of me. There is an odd comfort in this. Maybe I can trick myself into believing it was just the stomach flu and some serious bloat if something does go wrong.
Or maybe this really is that second trimester myth coming true. Maybe there was no need to verbally berate my pregnancy app for asking me if I felt better two weeks ago. Maybe I am going to gain weight this time, maybe my ankles are going to swell and I am going to become the beached whale of pregnancy lore.
If I were to say the previous 276 words out loud right now they would be met with “I’m sure you’re fine, there’s nothing wrong, this is what is supposed to happen.” Chances are I wouldn’t even be able to get past the first 5 words before I was being comforted and cajoled with stories of other pregnancies that ceased with the sickness at 15 weeks and ended babies at 40, as if there’s no need to acknowledge all that can and quite often does go wrong.
I know I’m not alone in these fears and feelings. Whether it’s seeing my friends lose babies they wanted so badly, the residual anxiety of finally becoming pregnant after so long or just plain old worry, I actually have a visceral need to say them out loud without being cut short by optimism.
Don’t get me wrong, I love optimism, but I don’t love keeping my feelings to myself simply because they sound silly, ridiculous or illogical.