I had my first baby in August, and I say first because I don’t know if I’m done, but I also didn’t really expect to have one at all. I never really thought I wanted kids. My entire life, kids did not seem to fit the plan. I love my independence, traveling, staying active, making spontaneous trips, and (to borrow a reference from Moira Rose) this lifestyle and bebe do not make.
Holding the new baby at the party, cooing over their precious faces, and having children’s birthday parties never filled me with joy the way it does for some women.
I thought I was odd or broken. (Or maybe just so very unique in being able to resist “every woman’s need for children.”)
I very clearly remember holding my niece in 2020 and thinking:
This is awkward.
She’s so tiny.
I don’t like this.
All these thoughts were confirmed when her mother quickly told me that I looked awkward and clearly didn’t know what I was doing. That was enough for me. The fleeting desire to hold a baby left my body, and I was convinced I was not going to be a mom.
Cut to mid-2023, and my dad’s cancer diagnosis rocked our family. It wasn’t just cancer, either. It was pancreatic cancer—an especially nasty variety with poor outcomes.
That seemed to settle my decision about not having kids. One day, I was crying in the car after getting off the phone with my mom and told myself,
“That’s it. I don’t want some stupid kid who’s never met my dad.”
I understand that was a pretty morbid thought so early in my dad’s treatment, but everything felt so real, and heavy, and final.
I firmly believe God heard my plans and laughed in my face. Not a month after this bold mental declaration, I was sipping on what I knew would be my last margarita for a long, long time. I didn’t even need a test to tell me that I was about five weeks pregnant. I had a gut feeling, so taking a test the next evening simply confirmed what my heart already knew.
When the two minutes were up, sure enough, two pink lines stared back at me.
I was shocked to find my heart filling with joy.
I expected to panic.
I expected to start flipping through options.
Instead, I smiled and thought, “Yeah. There you are.”
Me.
The girl who didn’t like kids.
The woman who couldn’t even hold a baby right.
I was going to have my own.
And I was overjoyed.
Fortunately, I have an incredible boyfriend who was potentially even more excited than me when I told him the next day.
Just like that, my life changed completely. I started doing everything I could to forecast the next few days, months, and years, but this uncontrolled variable threw a haze over everything.
I’m not sure how I knew, but I knew he was a boy.
The day after I told my boyfriend, I flew to meet my mom in Las Vegas for the NFR. While we excitedly (and very stealthily) shopped for baby clothes, I could already tell the precious little girl outfits were not for me. I was having a boy. I would have staked thousands on it right there in Gambler’s Paradise.
Now, here is the less magical side of finding out I was pregnant.
Unplanned.
Unmarried.
Unprepared.
I was so hesitant to tell anyone. I told exactly four people.
My friend Hayley. (in slight shock after taking the test)
My friend Bailey. (Again, in slight shock after taking the test)
Ryan.
My mother.
In that order.
I was a bit ashamed.
But also I was scared.
If I spoke this joy into the world, would it be snatched away?
My poor mom struggled with several miscarriages before successfully carrying my brother and then me.
What if that was genetic?
What if, as soon as I felt and shared my excitement, it all crashed to an end?
So, the first few weeks of my pregnancy were a mix of emotions.
Unbridled joy, crushing shame, and crippling fear.
I visited my therapist to dump my emotions at his feet so he could help me sort through them. He asked me, “Would sharing it with the world really make it hurt any more or any less? If something happens, do you want to have anyone to lean on? Anyone to share the pain with? Avoiding telling people will not somehow lessen the pain of a loss. In fact, it could hurt even more because fewer people mourn the loss with you.”
The man is good.
So, I began selectively telling a few people. Firstly, my best friend/roommate, because her world was about to change nearly as much as mine.
My boyfriend and his dogs were moving in, which likely meant she was moving out.
She understood and mirrored my emotions. I shared with her my fear of losing this pregnancy, and she said she’d be there for me no matter what. The weight of my fear eased just a bit, and my world seemed a little lighter. Ultimately, she and I settled on crying and hugging because the idea of not living together anymore was honestly devastating.
(Remember in Friends when Monica and Chandler choose to live together, and Rachel is moving out? “I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOOOOYYY!”)
I wanted to wait until my first ultrasound to tell anyone else.
I called the local health system with my heart HAMMERING to ask what the heck I’m supposed to do.
Surely, they want a test to confirm, an ultrasound, and an exam right away.
Nope.
They said the first appointment available was a month after my positive test. That would make me about 8-10 weeks along.
That seemed ludacris.
Don’t you want to make sure everything is ok?
That I’m going to live?
That this baby is going to live????
Welcome to my first dose of learning that the medical system is much more relaxed about pregnancy than first-time moms are…
I booked an appointment and an early ultrasound and started preparing to tell the world.
And now look at me, writing a blog about it.