When Did I Get Like This?

When Did I Get Like This: The Beginning of Motherhood

If this sounds like the title of a biography about a stressed out mom who isn't quite sure how to balance her old life with her new, it is.  And it's not writen by me, but it could be.  I just bought it last night for my nook.  And she had me with the first chapter.  The chapter about how it all began: the admission to the fact that she's always been a planner, a perfectionist, and extremely hard on myself" could have been stolen right from my mouth.  Honestly, I think that this personality can be an advantage in a young adult life.  It breeds a good work ethic and forces a girl to yearn for greater things.  Dreams are good.

If I were to say anything about myself, it would be that I am not a quitter.  If I want something bad enough, I won't stop until I get it.  And I won't cheat to get it, either.  I work hard, I work smart, and I try to do it right.  But, I won't let anyone tell me I can't do something.  That only makes me want it more.  My Junior year in high school, my French teacher announced they would take a select group to France and England during Spring Break.  When I dragged my parents to the local pizza place to hear the "parental" presentation, they encouraged me to earn my own way.  I'm not sure if they actually expected me to do it, but I worked all through the school year, and eventually (with a little help in the end, and their full support!) I was on a flight to Paris with a bunch of high school students and two teachers. 

How then, did I survive the 16 months when we were dreaming of starting a family and it just wasn't going our way?  I think, looking back, it was the most emotionally tormented time of my life.  Wanting something that badly, and having it be totally out of my control...or was it?  I think this is where mommy obsession began.  It was when mama started wanting it all...

I did eventually become pregnant with my first child, and with it came a sense of peace and calm.  No.  Wait.  That didn't happen. 

I did eventually become pregnant with my first child, and I began to unravel.  That's more like it.  Suddenly, my personality took over.  I needed the best of the best and I wanted to be the best of the best.  I read all the books, and I was even promoted to moderator of the "Due in November" forums on the internet.  I studied yoga for pregnany, I bought the belly cream that the celebrities used to reduce stretch marks, and I even started relaxing to hypnosis. 

What I didn't do when I got pregnant was celebrate.  It was odd, actually.  Most women who are "trying" to get pregnant get to plan out that revealing moment.  The loving dinner with their spouse where they do something wildly creative and wait for the teary eyed moment where they can bond over their growing love.  Not so with the infertility couple.  Nope.  By this time, I had used up a case of pregnancy tests.  At one point, I had a faulty test: one in which even the control line failed.  I was so angry. Beyond devastated.  It had been building inside me until I felt like a bomb would go off.  So, I took that faulty test outside, put it on my concrete patio...and beat it to smithereens with a hammer.  Then I called the company, who sent me a box of free tests.  I used the whole box the following month.  So, when that faint line actually showed up on the pregnancy test, did I jump for joy?  Not exactly.  Did I call everyone and share the good news?  Eh...um...no.  I took another one.  And another one.  One of each brand I could find, actually.  I called my obstetrician (on a Sunday...one of the perks of being an OB nurse) and asked if there was any possibility that the line might be a false positive.  I had, after all, been on hormones to increase my chances.  I kept all those tests, too.  I lined them up several times a day and stared at them, wondering if the lines were going to disappear.  I arranged them in order, from lightest to darkest, and then I'd file them back in the box in the bathroom and try to conjure up some happiness.

I did reveal the big news to my closest friends...well, to everyone actually.  Everyone knew I was going through procedures, and my cycles were well known to all, as my mood was reflective of them.  So, when the normal dip and rise of my happiness didn't change, they knew.  So, we told them.  We talked about our little Turkey, who was expected to arrive on Thanksgiving, and we smiled and made plans for our future.  But, inside, I was numb.  I wanted to be happy.  I wanted to jump up and down and shout to the world: I.  MADE.  A.  BABY !!!   But, I wasn't sure how.  It was the best moment of my life, and I couldn't be totally happy.  As the author of the previously mentioned book puts it perfectly in perspective: "Infertility robs you of many things along the way, but the last thing it steals from you is the ability to celebrate being pregnant."  I was afraid.  Afraid of how much effort had gone into what we had done to get this far.  Afraid of the strain it had put on our new marriage.  Afraid of something going wrong when it had finally gone right.  Afraid of not being able to be the mother I wanted to be.  And so it began.  My life as a mother.  Not the start I had longed for, but a slow exhale and the tiniest seed of hope began to grow.