Breaking Rules

I try to keep this secret hidden, it’s not something I’m incredibly proud of, but those that know me best know this:  I am a rule follower.  Now don’t get me wrong, I am not always a “color in the lines” kind of a girl, but when it comes to specific rules in discrete forms, I tend to adhere.   If you’ve ever played a board game with me, you understand completely.  I’m known as the “game nazi” around my household.  Hey, there are instructions in that box and they are meant to be followed.  Even when playing games with my little one, if a question arises, I am the first to pull out the instructions and tell all who are not following the rules all of their wrong-doings.  It’s a curse, I admit.  I have also been that person who will not take food into a movie, bring an outside drink into a restaurant, or use the bathroom at McDonalds without buying something, you know, because you’re not “supposed” to do that.  It’s against the “rules”.  I am also a bit neurotic about going to new places that have particular routines, such as the gym or oil changing venues, because I am afraid that if I am not following the rules correctly, someone might indict me.  Seriously, I avoid new oil changes because I never know when I get there if they want me to park my car or pull into the garage, wait in my car or get out, pay now or pay later, get the air filter or wait until next time…  Seriously, will someone please tell me what the rules are and I will be sure to abide!  I told you, a rule following neurotic mess. Yep, that’s me. So when it comes to the game of pregnancy, it should be obvious that I want to follow right along.  So, what are the rules and how do I play?

The first rule that you quickly get initiated in with is the “12 week rule”.  So, you pee on that stick, get that double line positive result, hug your spouse, and then stare at each other.  What do we do now?  You are experiencing some of the best emotions ever: excitement, elation, joy, happiness….and what do the rules of our society tell you to do with that?  Stifle it.  Keep it to yourself.  Don’t tell anyone.  It’s not safe.  Guard it with your life.  And what does this message tell us?  Your happiness is not guaranteed.  Keep your secret, because what if something happened?  So we begin our pregnancies in fear.  Fear that something dreadful could happen in a time that should only be joyous.  And I understand why we do this (to an extent), I know the statistics, hell, I have lived the stats and kicked their ass (in the wrong direction, of course).  I have been on the bad end of this one, I am well versed and practiced here, and I am going to tell you, not sharing your joy does not protect you.  It does not make things easier, it does not make losing more tolerable.  It hurts like hell no matter who you do and don’t tell.  There is absolutely nothing you can do to afford yourself the protection you so desire.  Your silence is not a premium that you put towards an insurance policy on your heart.  There is a complete false sense of security implied in this rule.  I adhered to this twelve week rule with each pregnancy to some extent, possibly with this most recent pregnancy least of all, and it was still so much more difficult to tell those who didn’t know I was pregnant in the first place about our loss than those that had already been able to celebrate in our earlier joys with us.  And, we all know there is no “in the clear” for me.  When you make it to forty weeks, you pretty much think you’ve sealed the deal.  And when the harsh realization comes that you haven’t, well, the world already knows you’re pregnant, there were no secrets going on there, 50 pounds is hard to hide (ugh, did I really just admit that?).  It wasn’t even an option to grieve alone.  I have no safety zone.  So I say screw the 12 week rule, it’s not for me.  I have come to the decision that I can choose to either celebrate alone and grieve alone or have a collective celebration of sorts and know that you will also be there for me to lean on if botched statistics come to knock on my door once again.  I like knowing that I have a support system, so I choose sharing, I choose not living in fear, I choose not to be guarded and to celebrate unrestrained.  Nothing is ever guaranteed, but this moment is mine. 

So, I’m not sure if I need to spell it all out for you or not, I am kind of hoping that you’ve figured this one out.  But maybe you’re just skimming and looking for the important points, so I’ll come right out and say it.  Heck, I’ll even highlight it for you.  I’m pregnant.  Very freshly and very newly pregnant.  Five weeks to be exact.  I have been anticipating this moment for the past three months.  Wondering when it was going to happen again (and sometimes if) and how I was going to feel.  I speculated that this moment would bring a plethora of emotions including joy, excitement, fear, sadness, resentment, or even anger.  But I will tell you, what I am feeling today more than anything else is intense amounts of gratitude.  I am most especially grateful that I am even able to have the opportunity to have this experience again.  I have no idea what the outcome will be, but I have been given the opportunity to find out.  And of course, there is some fear under the surface, that keeps trying to pop its ugly face up whenever it can, but I keep pounding on its head in some sort of whack-a-mole style, determined to keep that fear from taking over just yet.  I am going to enjoy my state of gratitude.  This moment is worthy of appreciating, devoid of nasty fear, even if it’s only for a minute. 

There is really only one reason in which I considered displaying some restraint.  I know there are women out there who have been through experiences similar to mine and women out there whose stories are different than mine, but difficult nonetheless, who might be turning to these pages in hopes of finding something to relate to.  I am afraid that my pregnancy announcement could become someone else’s pain. (If you don’t know what I am talking about, revisit this post .)  I don’t want my discussions of my joy and gratitude to be sources of heartache for someone else.  And I have considered this exhaustively.  But as I reflect on how I felt about our first loss, when I was left completely empty-handed, at that time, I needed to know that someone who had been through an experience such as mine could have a happy ending.  I needed to know that there was a possibility of a subsequent pregnancy, that another baby could and would happen, that I wasn’t broken forever.  I needed HOPE, desperately.  And I’m not saying that this pregnancy is going to be that for anyone.  I don’t know that this pregnancy is going to have a happy ending.  I don’t have a clue about the outcome.  But what I do know is that I need hope.  I need to do what is essential for me so that I can find the courage to reach for that hope, hold on as tight as I can, and be grateful that hope exists in the first place.  And in some strange way, sharing this news with you today brings me a handful of hope in and of itself.  By being excited and elated and unrestrained in my current joy and being able to share that with you, I find much needed hope and courage.  I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but today I can be happy, I can be joyful, I can be grateful.  And today, I will do just that. 

So fasten up, I have no idea what this ride is going to be like.  It could be a very sad and short journey or it could be an exhausting course of approximately 9 (long) months.  But either way, I have to take you with me.  I will continue to talk about my challenges throughout my journey, the difficulties I have found in loving and losing, and I will begin to talk about the challenges that lie ahead with considerations of a new life growing inside of me.  And I know I will get some scrutiny for this act of anarchy, this not playing by the rules.  It won’t be blatant or entirely obvious, but I will see in some of your responses the judgment on my sharing.  I will see in some of your eyes the fear you hold for me by my early telling.  Some of you will insist I shouldn’t break the rules, that I should protect myself, protect my family (I will not tell Abigail right now, just FYI, I might just be able to protect her this time), guard myself from the potential of heartache.  But I know these things are impossible, and let’s be honest, I haven’t actually been playing by the rules too much lately anyway.   Sometimes rules are meant to be broken, right?  Especially once you realize those rules just simply weren’t made for you.  It’s time I custom design my own set of rules in this pregnancy game.  It’s time I begin playing this game on my own terms.  It’s time for me to gear up and realize rule breaking might just help me beat this demon I’m playing against.  Ah…. it looks as if I’m finding my fight again.  Game on.