When I saw two pink lines again, I assumed I would feel relief. Instead, it still felt like I was holding my breath.
Trying to conceive became all-consuming.
Each month, I tracked everything. My temperature. My symptoms. The timing. I told myself it would give me some sense of control. It didn’t. It just gave me more to analyze, more to worry about, more ways to convince myself something was wrong.
I didn’t expect trying again to feel this heavy.
I knew how quickly things could change
My first pregnancy had already shown me that things don’t always go the way you imagine. I had gestational diabetes, and my son was born via C-section at 37 weeks.
I didn’t get to hold him. There was no golden hour, no skin-to-skin. Shortly after he was born, he was whisked away by a horde of doctors and nurses to prepare for an ambulance transfer to a hospital with a higher-level NICU.
Just a few hours after my abdomen was opened and stitched back together, my husband and a nurse helped me walk to a wheelchair so I could see him for a few minutes before his ambulance ride.
I didn’t see him again in person for three days.
He had transient tachypnea of the newborn, also known as “wet lungs,” and watching him struggle to breathe is something I still carry with me. When we finally brought him home five days later, I thought the hardest part was behind us. Then I was readmitted with postpartum preeclampsia. Daily blood pressure checks saved my life.
We thought we were ready to try again
When our son turned 2, we felt ready to try again. It happened faster than we imagined. Everything seemed to be going well. At 10 weeks, we found out we were having another boy.
We brought our toddler to our 14-week appointment, excited for him to hear his little brother’s heartbeat.
There wasn’t one.
The doctor told me it was a missed miscarriage and recommended a D&C. We went back the next day for a viability scan, holding onto a small sense of hope. By the following day, it was confirmed that our baby was gone.
I had the procedure two days later.
I don’t remember much from the hospital. What I remember is trying to recover, physically and mentally, while still showing up every day for my toddler.
Getting pregnant again didn’t bring relief
We started trying again as soon as I was medically cleared. I got pregnant again four months later. Looking back, it happened quickly.
At the time, it felt like the longest stretch of my life.
I questioned everything. Whether my body had failed me. Whether my C-section had caused too much scarring. Whether I was too old. Too overweight. Too something.
When I saw those two pink lines, I wasn’t relieved. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
That feeling followed me into every appointment. My blood pressure was high each time, even early on. At six weeks, I started bleeding and cramping. There was enough blood that I was sure I was miscarrying again.
I was seen the same day and told it was a subchorionic hematoma, a common cause of first-trimester bleeding that often resolves on its own.
The bleeding lasted for three weeks.
I was put on progesterone supplements through the first trimester and tried to take things one day at a time, but it was hard to have faith that this pregnancy would last. When we learned the baby was a girl, I wanted to feel excited. I felt cautious instead.
I felt like I knew too much
By the second trimester, I was diagnosed with gestational hypertension and gestational diabetes. I began seeing maternal-fetal medicine specialists and had weekly nonstress tests starting at 32 weeks.
Each appointment felt like a checkpoint. Another moment where something could go wrong.
I assumed that having been through pregnancy before would make this one easier. That I would feel more confident, more prepared.
Instead, I felt like I knew too much.
I knew how quickly things could change. I knew a normal appointment could turn into something else entirely. I knew that even after bringing a baby home, things could still go wrong.
That knowledge didn’t make me feel stronger. It made everything feel more fragile.
Bringing her home didn’t end the fear
Trying for another baby didn’t feel like moving forward. It felt like carrying everything that had already happened with me.
I still wanted this baby. That never changed. But wanting something deeply doesn’t cancel out fear. If anything, it makes the fear louder.
Our rainbow baby was born at 37 weeks, just like her older brother, and needed time in the NICU. Two days after we brought her home, I was readmitted again with postpartum preeclampsia. I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the hospital, separated from my newborn and my family.
Even as I cuddle my sweet baby girl, I’m still learning how to carry both the hope and the anxiety. The excitement and the uncertainty.
This journey to motherhood doesn’t look like what I pictured. But it’s real. And for now, that has to be enough.
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