I found out I was pregnant for the sixth time this past July. Out of self preservation I tucked the test away in my top dresser drawer as if to say, "We'll see." I didn't smile, or experience fluttering giddiness. I didn't even tell Trenton. I made a conscious decision to live in denial. That is why, when I started bleeding, I was able to calmly take myself to the emergency room and prepare for the reality of my fourth miscarriage. During the ultrasound the technician didn't allow me to see the screen, which I was used to. They don't display the image until they're sure everything is okay. My eyes were closed when she told me to take a peek. The tech began assuring me that she was seeing the tiny flicker of a developing heart. She happily reported, "This is the earliest gestation I've ever scanned a heartbeat. I think that's a pretty good indication that the baby is strong!" Exactly two weeks later, I was steam rolled by the most inescapable morning, noon, and night sickness. A persistent sickness that didn't tolerate self preserving denial. A sickness that required a very diligent, "Let's do this!" mentality, just to survive it.
I am entering my 13th week. Even with the intolerable nausea and constant reminders of my condition the past 7 weeks, it didn't really sink in that I was creating another human being until tonight. I was forced to buy some maternity clothes because, after the defeat of previous miscarriages, I gave all my maternity clothes away. While I was in the dressing room I tried on one of the "belly pillows" that gives you a very lumpy and asymmetrical idea of what you'll look like during the later months of pregnancy. And there I was with a swollen belly again. For the first time since I had lost faith in my ability to have another child, I realized...I am sharing my womb again with my baby. And in that very sweet, semi-private dressing room- I suddenly felt like the sun was filling my abdomen.