I often feel like I was ripped off the beginning of my pregnancy. I didn’t have a traditional or desired experience. After dreaming for years of when we would find out how I would tell Jason and our families, I found out I was pregnant by taking a pregnancy test in the visitors washroom of the Hospital, just outside of my Husbands room. When I went in to tell him, I wasn’t even sure if he fully understood what I was telling him as he was still recovering from his second surgery and was in and out of consciousness.
I’d always wanted to tell my parents in a cute way – a card, a picture frame with our due date written in it, something special so that they would always remember that moment. Instead, I told them standing by his Hospital bed talking over the visitors that were visiting the patient in the next bed. My Father wasn’t there, but Jason didn’t want to wait any longer as he was afraid of what our future might bring.
During my first trimester, when you’re supposed to be able to rest from your exhaustion, I was spending 10+ hour days by my Husbands side. I eventually had to go back to work and would leave each night to go to the Hospital where I would stay until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I was sleeping in hard plastic chairs, trying to stiffle my nausea that was made worse by all the lovely smells that are found in a hospital. At the end of the night, I’d go home and go to bed. For nearly three months, my life consisted of nothing more.
Jason had always wanted to go with me to my first Dr’s visit, but he couldn’t walk or even sit up without assistance, let alone make the trip. He missed my first ultrasound, he didn’t get to hear the babies heart beat for the first time. He didn’t get to lie beside me at night and dream about what our lives would be like after this change.
The first time I felt the baby move, I was alone. It was after hours so I coudn’t even call him on the phone to tell him.
The first trimester was full of fears about recovery. When would he be able to come home. Would he be able to care for a baby, pick up and hug or change a diaper?
I’m trying not to focus on those first few months anymore. There’s nothing we can do, we can’t change the memories, we can’t go back and change how things happened. It’s done and we have to move on.
Instead, I’m trying to look forward. I’m trying to look at some of the positives. No, my Husband isn’t fully recovered, but I won’t be alone when the baby is born.
Chances are, I’ll be going back to work well before he is able to. He won’t miss the firsts that so many Fathers never get a chance to see. True, he won’t be able to carry the baby around the nursery to lull him back to sleep, but he’ll be able to be there with me, beside me, holding my hand. He’ll be able to get up in the middle of the ngiht and stay with me and talk with me and get me through the rough parts that I’m sure are looming in the future.
The pregnancy may not have been ideal. But, I’m going to do everything I can to make up for it after birth. I’m tired of being negative, I’m tired of thinking that six and a half months ago, our lives were ruined.
Our lives have changed. Nothing will ever be the way that it was. We’ll get through this. Together.