I was watching one of those "Entertainment Tonight" shows with my friend Lisa yesterday evening. Before you say anything, I must defend myself. We have like, seven channels and only three of them actually come in without having to constantly mess around with the antenna, so our TV viewing choices were extremely limited. Anyway, after hearing all about the cheating scandal that is soon to erupt on "The Bachelorette," and how Angelina and Brad are ready to adopt another baby (or are about to break up, I can't remember which one it was), Mario Lopez (a host on the show, also of "Saved By the Bell" fame) announced he and his fake-tanned girlfriend (who is also apparently a host on the show?) are "HAVING A BABY!!" That's right, folks, there will soon be a little mini-A.C. Slater running around! After the big announcement, they went into the most obnoxious "look at us getting ready for the baby" video montage ever. Mario and Fake-Tanned Pregnant Girlfriend getting a sonogram. Mario and Fake-Tanned Pregnant Girlfriend shopping for baby clothes. Mario rubbing Fake-Tanned Pregnant Girlfriend's little baby bump for the cameras. Finally, I said to Lisa, "I'm sorry, I can't take anymore of this..." and switched over to an "Everybody Loves Raymond" re-run.
It's weird. Before you died, I totally assumed being pregnant meant "HAVING A BABY!" I mean sure, you want to be careful who you tell at the beginning, but once you hit the second trimester, bringing home a baby six months later is pretty much a guarantee. According to Dr. Google, my stack of pregnancy books, and even my own Doctor, there was absolutely no reason for me to have any doubt that I would give birth to a living, breathing baby come August. We never said "if we have the baby..." it was always, "when we have the baby..." It was always, "when Stevie gets here..." not "if Stevie gets here..."
Pregnancy was a when, not an if, kind of thing.
But now that I've had my perfectly normal pregnancy end with the death of my first baby, pregnancy is an if, not a when, concept. Now, whenever someone announces they are pregnant, I automatically think, "well, I sure hope their baby doesn't die," or "well, I sure hope they don't end up with blood clots in the umbilical cord." When someone says, "we're HAVING A BABY!" I'm not filled with excitement, I'm filled with dread, so scared that what happened to me might happen to them.
I hate it. I hate that pregnancy will never again be the beautiful, miraculous thing it was to me before you died. I hate that I will never be able to enjoy my own future pregnancies, or even my friend's pregnancies the same way I did before I knew, first-hand, how quickly such a beautiful experience could end in such ugly heartbreak. I hate that I will never be blissfully niave, ever again.
I wish that the next time I was pregnant I could loudly shout, "We're HAVING A BABY!" for the world to hear. But I know it'll be more like a quiet, shaky, "I guess we're pregnant, for the time being anyway..." whispered to our closest friends. That is, if we ever even get pregnant again (I am fully aware that's no guarantee either).
I guess the only six months of beautiful, niave pregnant bliss I'll ever have belong to you. And I kind of like that. I'm glad that I was unaware of all that could go wrong when I was carrying you. I'm glad I was able to enjoy and revel in every second of the time we had together. I'm glad I took all those dorky belly photos every week and plastered them all over facebook. I'm glad I told everyone I met, "I'm HAVING A BABY!" I just wish it would have been true.
It's beautiful outside today, Baby. I wish you were here to enjoy the sunshine with me.
2 hours ago