… On the way back to the office. For weeks now I’ve been increasingly worried going back to work – how to negotiate a new role and an inter-continental move with lovely 5.5-month-old Lola in the picture.
Which just goes to show you that God really does laugh at our plans.
Me. Two-rounds-of-IVF-and-all-the-rest me.
Of course doctors tell you to use contraception after birth, but I’m sorry, my infertile ears just did not compute this. Firstly, after all the tests and the sad failed pee sticks over the past few years, I was never going to accidentally fall pregnant. And second, if I did, well, hallelujah.
So even though my career is now in a very weird place and we will have to be creative about the cold hard cash side of life, I am very happy. Not quite believing it, but happy. Of course it is very, very, very, early days and could all go wrong, and I’m worried about not having taken enough folic acid in the past month and breastfeeding Lola at the same time, and maybe depriving her of all the attention I so want to lavish on her etc etc, but I feel quietly hopeful. Although with Lola I felt certain that something would go horribly wrong so that’s no indication at all.
I only took the pee test as an afterthought because my period-tracking phone application told me I was 9 days late. I’d only had two periods since Lola anyway, and knew they were supposed to be irregular, so I didn’t think much of it.
I was so laissez-faire about the whole thing that I actually peed on the stick and forgot about it. It was only an hour later as I wandered into the bathroom that I saw two lines on the stick.
Say what? TWO lines.
My pee sticks do not have two lines. All those times willing that second line to magically appear, feeling the sadness hit my chest as one angry red line started back at me yet again… this could not be.
I put it in a drawer and wandered around in a fog until Rufus came home. He was in the shower when I told him, and he just pulled back the curtain with a big smile and said “Another one!”.
He constantly amazes me with his ability to not worry about anything.
I still couldn’t really fathom it the next day, so the next day I pushed Lola in her pram 45 minutes to a lab for a blood test and then sat around under a big tree in the park with her for a good play afterwards. I was feeling more than a little surreal. I just kept looking down at her smiling and kicking in the dappled light, being so delightful, and I wondered how I could love another baby like I love her.
The practical part of my brain was also knocking on my consciousness’s door, saying “Um, hello? Your job? Career? What will you say to your boss? Where will you get money from?” There needs to be a dismissive hashtag for this train of thought, I know. #whitepeople’sproblems #newmumhaseverythingsheeverwantedandstillgetstressed
A few hours later, after walking home in the blazing heat, I checked the results online. HCG 93.
Not high at all. But pregnant. I’m going for another test today before my doc’s appointment on Thursday. Can this really be happening?