2010 was not my year and I blogged in great detail about it in this post. I counted down the minutes to 2011 and I vowed to make it a much better year. After the two miscarriages, Anthony and I decided to put a hiatus on trying to conceive so that I could focus all of my energy on taking the Bar exam in February and trying to find a job. It was a hard decision since we had already spent almost an entire year trying to get pregnant, but I knew deep down that it was the right one. In February I took the Bar exam and in early March I lucked out and found a job. Once I started my job we began discussing trying to try again for a baby. We decided to wait until I qualified for FMLA and to make sure I had passed the Bar exam so not to jeopardize my job. It was a long three months and the countdown to June was excruciatingly long.
I wish I could say it was all smooth sailing from there but I can’t. Long story short, we didn’t get pregnant. As January approached, and I saw my fair share of negative pregnancy tests, I began to experience some of the same depression that sidelined me back in 2010. I felt like a huge failure as a woman and as a wife. My poor friends had to listen to me obsess over charting and ovulations and all the other things the vast majority of people care to never discuss. It was unhealthy, and I was in too deep to realize it. I finally went to my doctor proclaiming that something had to be wrong with me; two miscarriages followed by nearly a year of trying to get pregnant to no avail didn’t paint a promising picture. I feared that something went wrong during one of my D&C procedures or that I was having early undetectable miscarriages. My doctor told me to give it three more months and then, if after over a year of trying, we still weren’t pregnant, she would refer me to a fertility specialist. I left the office in tears because I was convinced we would be sitting in that fertility specialist’s office three months down the line.
January and February passed with more negative pregnancy tests. In March I charted but had no expectation that it would work; we had an appointment for a fertility consult scheduled for the end of the month. The next week I was supposed to go to yoga with my friend Monica and it happened to fall on the day I was due for a visit from Aunt Flo. I had no desire to waste anymore money on yet another pregnancy test until I was late and had a reason to test, but I was still curious whether it could possibly be that I was pregnant. I had read somewhere that you could use ovulation predictor tests to see if you were pregnant because the hormone that indicates pregnancy is in the same spectrum as the hormone that indicates ovulation (essentially you get a smiley face if you’re pregnant, though this isn’t fool proof because some people ovulate late in their cycle). I decided to try this method and if I got a smiley face to then go get a proper test after yoga. I took the test and lo and behold I saw a smiley face. After yoga I rushed to CVS, purchased a test and sped home. I took the test and paced in the kitchen while Anthony prepared dinner too nervous to go see what I assumed would be a negative result. When I looked at the test I saw not one, but two lines. I was pregnant.
I was so happy to know that I could get pregnant again that I shortly forgot about our first two pregnancies and how they resulted. Ultimately I spent the next few weeks on pins and needles until I was scheduled for my first ultrasound. When I went for that ultrasound and I heard the heartbeat I still wasn’t 100% ready to accept the fact that I was pregnant and could actually have a baby. I had been here before, hearing a heartbeat does dramatically reduce the risk of miscarriage, but I knew from very unfortunate circumstances that this isn’t always the case. However, deep down I just knew it was our time; I was incredibly and oddly calm during the first 10 weeks. Anthony warned me not to get too excited, and I tried not to. In the end though, I couldn’t help but think this was it; we were finally going to have a baby.
Week after week my pregnancy progressed smoothly. My pregnancy was actually amazing; I had absolutely no issues. I was that pregnant woman who walks around with a stupid grin on her face the entire time, that never waddles, and that you couldn’t tell was pregnant from the back. I gained 37 pounds and it was all belly; I have the stretch marks to prove it.
(This is me the day I went into labor, which happened to be my due date.)
The only issue we had was an overly active baby who flipped constantly and ended up being breech. When I went in at 37 weeks, the doctor found out he had flipped on his own for good into the correct position and was in complete shock. Due to his measurements and my tiny frame, she didn’t think it was possible for him to flip. We even scheduled a c-section for the day before Thanksgiving because she didn’t think I’d make it to my due date. After he flipped my picture perfect pregnancy continued and I went into labor on my due date, which I’ve learned is actually pretty rare. Zachary ended up holding out until December 1st but I’ll save that for his birth story.
All in all, it took us three years to get Zachary and looking back I wouldn’t change a minute of our journey. I was able to kick start my career, we got to spend more time as a couple, and in the end we got Zachary.