What It’s Really Like to Be a Loss Mama with a Positive Pregnancy Test – Pregnancy After Loss Support
You’ve waited for two weeks to see if you have a positive pregnancy test.
Ok, let’s be real. You’ve waited a lot longer than two weeks. You’re a loss mama, which means there’s been a whole heck of a lot of grief and tears before you’ve gotten to this point. And a whole lot more weeks, too.
But this day signifies the end of a two-week wait.
14 days sound insignificant given the hurdles you’ve already overcome. And yet, those 14 days are really 336 hours of wondering, of stressing out and then trying to talk yourself out of stressing out.
It feels like a lifetime of not knowing if you’re pregnant, but hoping (and simultaneously fearing) you are.
You skipped the cocktail at last night’s dinner, just in case, and hoped none of your friends noticed. You did yoga instead of kickboxing this week because you can never be too careful. And maybe, just maybe, you felt panic every time you used the bathroom just in case a spot on your panties dashes all your hopes. So far, you’re in the clear. But that could all change today …
And now, after all the worry, and all the stress, and all the pretending that you’re okay when you feel anything but, it’s time to see if you have a positive pregnancy test.
You take the test. And your thoughts begin to race:
I can’t look. I can’t. I mean, I really, really can’t. I’m just going to set this timer, walk away, and pretend like my entire future is not hanging in the balance. See, I got this. Walking away now …
Ummmm, nevermind. Definitely looking.
30 seconds in … so long still to go! Hurry up already. Be positive, be positive, be positive …
Crap. What if it is positive? I’m not ready. I mean, I thought I was. But what if I get too attached? What if I lose again? I can’t handle it, there’s just no way. We’ve already been through too much … Can we survive another loss?
GIRL. Pull. Yourself. Together.
You don’t even know if you’re pregnant.
Minute and a half left.
This is taking too long. How am I going to tell him? If it’s negative, he’s going to be so sad. If it’s positive, so stressed. I just want to be happy. I want him to be happy.
I wonder if we even CAN be happy.
45 seconds left …
Wait, is that what I think it is?
Oh my gosh.
Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.
It’s positive. It’s barely there, but holy crap, it’s positive.
I ‘ m p r e g n a n t …
I want this baby. Baby, do you hear me? I want you. Please hold on. Please hold on for your mama.
But what if I lose you? I was so sure I was going to have our last baby.
Our last baby …
I still want to be pregnant with you. I miss you so much. I want this to be you. But I know it can’t be you. I just hope I can love this one with as much love as I have for you. I miss you so much. I don’t want to have to do this all again.
But I can’t get my hopes up. I’ll have to just pretend like I’m not pregnant. It won’t hurt so much if I don’t let myself care.
Do you hear that, heart? Stop caring. Please, just stop.
Be numb. Don’t think about it. Don’t make a fuss. Do not feel anything. Pretend if you have to. Do whatever it takes to not fall apart. If you fall apart with this pregnancy, you’re never going to pull yourself back together.
Numb, numb, numb, numb …
But … if this baby makes it, I’ll have a baby by Christmas. I can dream, right? Just for a second? Mom is going to cry when I tell her. Everyone will … but what about Sarah and Meagan? They just lost their babies too. I mean, I think they’ll be excited when I tell them, except maybe Sarah. She can’t have kids anymore … how am I going to tell her?
Forget it, it’s not like this baby is going to make it. If I don’t tell anyone, no one has to be sad with me. No one has to be sad at my pregnancy, and no one has to grieve my loss.
No, I can’t announce this yet. Not to anyone.
It’s too precious. I’m too vulnerable. Nothing is guaranteed.
Except that my heart is already 100% invested.
I’m lost. I’m scared. So scared. And so alone. I didn’t know I could care so much, hurt so much, love so much, fear so much, and be numb so much all at the same time.
This must be what pregnancy after loss feels like.
If it’s only been four minutes since I got my positive pregnancy test …
This is going to be the longest 40 weeks of my life.
This content was originally published here.