After placing my first child for adoption in 2009, I have almost dreaded being pregnant again. Not because I hated being pregnant (which I did), but because I knew it would be different. I knew that the next time I would be pregnant would be when I was happily married and that my situation and everything surrounding the pregnancy would be, well if not totally perfect, pretty dang close to perfect. I felt like I didn't know how to do a "happy" pregnancy. I felt like I wouldn't know how to share my happiness with my husband. I felt like I wouldn't know how to be proud of my pregnancy. I knew how to be sad, and lonely, and ashamed. That's what I knew and I was scared. I was also afraid of how my family would react. Deep down, I knew they (and I) would be very happy and excited, but all I knew was the disappointment and shame, so that's what I expected. (PS. thank goodness for the aptly name "Sara" oil from YLEO. It has gotten me through a lot of pain and suffering related to Sara's adoption)
Fast forward to June-ish 2014. I have been happily married for 2.5 years. My husband, Dan, and I had been discussing for about a month about starting a family. We had just got back from a trip to Hawaii and my period was late. I cautiously took a pregnancy test. We couldn't be pregnant so quickly. Seeing those two little lines was like I had been hit on the head with an anvil. You know, in cartoons with the little birds singing in circles around your head? I was in shock. Very very VERY happy shock. I quickly called Dan over and made him look at the test. He looked confused at the test and then looked at me questioningly. Yes, we are pregnant!! We were thrilled! This was the first of many moments I had where I thought to myself: This is what it is supposed to be like. (Go ahead and hum "So this is Love" from Cinderella. I did.)
Going to the doctor and proudly proclaiming that I was pregnant was yet another moment. Again with telling not only my family, but also Dan's family and having a joyful, hopeful, and not an all-together tearless reaction was another. The ultrasound (with my husband there!) was another. Having Dan WANT to feel his son move and kick is another. Having strangers comment on my belly and say how great little boys are (without any judgment on my young age) is yet another.
All of my fears from after placement have been dashed away. If I think too hard on it, I will cry. And I usually do. I know I will be a complete mess when he is born. I won't be afraid of bonding too much. I won't be afraid of people showing up and ruining things. I won't be alone. Ok, ok. I wasn't alone, per say, during Sara's birth. But I will have my husband, the father of our baby, there beside me.
Ok. This is probably going to come out strange. But I feel like Clark is my first child. Yes, yes, TECHNICALLY Sara is my first child. But she is Matt and Evige's second child first and foremost. This is not to say that I love Sara any less. Or that I love Clark any more. I am not quite sure where I'm going with this. But when people ask me if this is my first child, I say yes. Without hesitating. Unless, of course, the question has some medical reasoning behind it. Then I say something like yes, and no, and then I explain. But yes. Clark is my first child.
And I can't wait for all the rest of "firsts" that will come with him.
Why is first such a weird looking word?
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