The Second Nine Months

Thoughts on my time carrying baby boy

We found out we were pregnant the week before Thanksgiving, this unexpected, precious gift on a Friday night, all gathered around the kitchen island. A positive pregnancy test will always, always be so shocking to me, so miraculous. Both with Kit and with baby boy, my heart couldn’t even process quickly enough what to feel as those lines grew darker and darker, so I’ve been left crying, feeling shaky and at a loss for words, some laughter, but mostly tears. We sat Kit at the foot of the Christmas tree in our library and tried to get Annie to sit by her, take a picture of the tests, all the while, Price and I couldn’t stop staring at each other. I remember sitting on the floor a little while longer and feeling a familiar layer of emotions nestle into my mind…disbelief, thanksgiving, fear, joy.

That Sunday, my family’s flower shop had Christmas Open House after church. I spent the afternoon hoarding my mom’s chocolate chip cookies from customers, so I could take a bag home for myself. Checking people out. Fluffing tissue paper in gift bags. Distracting myself from the heavy feeling of anxiety over telling my parents. This happened with Kit, too, and I still am not really sure why. For months before I was pregnant with her, my favorite videos to watch were of people telling their families they were expecting. But with both of my babies, I felt so emotional over the news, this weight of wanting people to respond well. The ordeal of deciding how to tell is almost too much for me, which is disappointing, but for our next, I might just drive right over and yell it from the carport, leave no room to think on my end.

After the last customers left, I had Price bring Kit to, supposedly, pick out a Christmas ornament for her tree. And as I carried her around, my head already feeling fuzzy and my face red hot, I simply said, “Do you have any that say big sister?” And that was that.

The next week, we spent Thanksgiving with Price’s family. He opted for the casual shock factor, too. For his mom and dad, he slipped it into conversation as we unloaded the car: “I don’t know how we’ll fit everything next year with two babies!” For his youngest sister, pregnant and in the thick of heartburn at the time, my first symptom for both pregnancies, he said at the dinner table, “Addy has heartburn, too,” and then just looked at her until she realized what he was implying.

I think something strange about the second pregnancy, especially so close to my first, is not wanting to make it such a big deal to people, in case they don’t care. But then, that’s an odd sentiment to fear, given this baby’s life is just as worthy of anticipation as my first baby’s life. Still, I found myself unsure how to tell friends, just casually telling people as they needed to know. Which, really, is fine by me, given I’ve always felt very territorial, very private over my pregnancies. Nine months is a long time to be pregnant, a long time for people to know. Especially people who don’t necessarily need to know. And it felt precious, both times, to keep these babies between us until our anatomy scans halfway through.

Not surprisingly, I really didn’t feel pregnant until right around then anyways. There has been such a difference in my own attention to the fact I’m carrying another little life than when I carried Kit, purely because Kit consumes my attention, my time, my days here and now. At the beginning, I felt like our appointments were more and more often, but this was merely because time sadly moves quicker in motherhood. The nurses would ask me how far along I was, and it would take me a couple moments to gather in my head what week it was, whereas last time, I knew down to the day.

When I was fifteen weeks along, I went on a weekend trip with my college roommates. When Grayson picked me up, I had a list of things we absolutely needed to talk about…gossip mostly. But tucked within a few topics, I listed “I’m pregnant,” and when I handed her my phone to let her choose which story we should cover first, she screamed. When we got to the hotel room and met Mariel and Megan, I couldn’t wait any longer, telling them within five minutes of sitting down on our beds. And now I know that was the Lord’s provision, pushing me to tell them and not wait until later, because just a few minutes afterwards, I started spotting, something that had never happened with Kit. I called my mom from the hallway and cried, unsure of what to do, what this meant, what to tell Price. By the absolute grace of God, I had nothing to worry about…we skipped our dinner reservation and spent that night in the emergency waiting room, somehow managing to laugh at the absurdity of the people working there and the people waiting beside us. Our weekend went on, baby boy along with us.

We found out this little baby was a boy the week after Valentine’s Day. Just as I did with Kit, I went into that appointment with a feeling in my heart of what he would be, and I’ve been right both times. This time, I felt more of a desire for a certain answer though, a girl, entirely because of my own desire for a sister. I think, too, this guilt of Kit not having me all to herself for much longer clouded my judgment on what she would want and what she wouldn’t, as if she would love a sister more than a brother. But on the drive home, as I held his little ultrasound and we decided on a precious, perfect name, I could already see this little boy, a little Price beside my baby girl. And all was well.

Even as I write this, that morning feels like just days ago. The past few nights, I’ll stand in front of my mirror and peer at my swollen belly, the deep stretch marks, the rolling skin as he makes himself known at night. I watch his heel in my side, his bottom rotate back and forth, tiny hiccups. But still, I said to Price, “I don’t think my tummy is even that big?” And unfair statement for him to have to respond to.

I just cannot get past how different these last nine months have been than my first pregnancy…the heat of the summer, the passage of time, the confidence. Of course, the dreadful diagnosis of gestational diabetes will be the first thing I remember of this time, the finger pricks and the medication, the taste of sugar free candies and protein bars, the soreness of my hips and back after pushing the girls around the neighborhood in their red wagon, trying to get my blood sugar down, the familiarity of my clinic and my nurses, after two months of weekly appointments. It’s given my pregnancy such a routine, what with having to diet and exercise, and really, it has turned into something I’m grateful for, or at least fine with. Even just for my exposure to and tolerance of blood, I feel stronger than I was before.

I wrote about this feeling when we announced we were expecting, but I feel it even stronger now…this knowing I do not want to be done experiencing the miracle of having a baby. This is my greatest prayer, for more children and a home to fit them all. I feel so fond of these last nine months, regretful as I haven’t written every feeling and symptom and memory in my journal like I did Kit, I haven’t written anything in his baby book except for his due date, but so, so very fond of this pregnancy that felt like it existed mostly between the four of us, me, Price, Kit, and Annie. Watching my tummy at night, slowly organizing his dresser-full of secondhand clothing, talking about “baby brother” to Kit and Annie throughout the day, two girls who have absolutely no earthly idea what is happening and, frankly, aren’t interested in knowing.

Every night, after I read Kit her story, we say our prayers, ending with a prayer for baby boy, asking God to take care of the day he is born, to protect us on the road to the hospital, for my doctor to be on call, for the nurses to be kind, for our bodies to be strong, for Kit, for Annie, for the feeling of home when we come back.

Nine months pregnant at last, and a heatwave to welcome me to it. But thankful all the same.