I am exceedingly grateful to be done with this part of my life. That’s not to say “my family is complete” (a declaration that seems a surefire way to end up with a surprise child), but moreso just that I am ready and happy to leave the whole process of conception and pregnancy behind.
It was a good pregnancy. I slipped into a deep depression in my first trimester, but it’s hard to say if that would have happened anyway, given the winter, the pandemic-induced isolation, the barriers and National Guardsmen that lined our neighborhood for months after the insurrection. Otherwise, it was straightforward. I got pregnant the very first month we tried. I had to go to nearly every appointment without my husband because of pandemic restrictions, but there was never any long period of silence, any question that she wasn’t okay. I happily shared our news with friends, didn’t lapse into awkward silences when people asked questions. I slept as well as could be expected, stayed active, and enjoyed all sorts of adventures with my family up to the very end.*
Mostly, I didn’t live in fear. I didn’t enjoy it, exactly, but I didn’t live with the crippling anxiety that I had when I was pregnant with my son either. At one appointment they had me fill out a depression/anxiety screen, a standard practice, and I was so elated to realize how good I really felt that I failed to pay attention to anything else the doctor said. In some ways, it was redemptive.
Two children. My friends describe yearning for more, as I did shortly after our son was born, but I don’t relate at all now. It would be nearly impossible to lead the life we do now, a life I quite enjoy, in the city, in our small space, without a car. And the other thing I keep thinking is: I never have to worry about another miscarriage. Such a relief.
I’m excited for what life with the four of us will bring.
*To remember. We traveled to: Dallas TX, Fayetteville AR, Richmond VA, Rehoboth Beach DE, Los Angeles CA, Harbor Springs MI, Asheville NC, Charlottesville VA.