I first sensed something unusual when a scene from a classic movie triggered unexpected tears. Normally, I’m not one to cry—especially not while exercising. It was a touching story, and I do have a soft spot for gospel music, but still.
In the days that followed, fatigue washed over me. I felt as if my limbs were weighed down, and my eyelids would occasionally shut against my will. Surely, it was just hormones; my menstrual cycle was due any day now. To my surprise, it was already Friday, and my period was supposed to have arrived on Tuesday. Uh oh.
I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. My partner and I had only been trying for a couple of weeks, and being just four days late felt insignificant. I convinced myself that it was merely a natural cycle. The internet claimed that many women experience irregularities after going off birth control, so that must be the case. Why do pregnancy symptoms and PMS symptoms mimic each other so closely? I was not pregnant.
By Saturday evening, I had somehow convinced myself that I was likely battling the flu. My muscles ached, and I felt feverish. Yet, I also experienced some concerning signs: extreme exhaustion, mild nausea, and intense dizziness. Consulting Dr. Google again led me to discover that these are indeed classic early pregnancy symptoms. Uh oh.
“I feel really strange,” I confessed to my partner that night while sprawled out on the couch, too fatigued to move. “I think we should get a pregnancy test.”
“You’re not pregnant,” he insisted. “It’s too early.”
“But I feel super weird.”
“It’s too soon,” he replied.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I conceded. It was still too early.
I dropped the subject and slept soundly for nine hours. The next day, feeling nearly normal, I had to run some errands and decided to pick up a pregnancy test. I even entertained the thought of buying a bottle of wine, just in case the test turned out negative—an opportunity to enjoy a drink before resuming our conception efforts.
Once home, I discreetly took the test without telling my partner. I felt a bit embarrassed; after all, we had agreed I was merely skipping a period. The test result was ambiguous—a faint line appeared, which typically indicates pregnancy.
“Um,” I said, coming down the stairs with the test in hand.
He glanced at me briefly, then returned to the game he was watching.
“Um,” I repeated.
“Um… I took a pregnancy test,” I finally managed to say, capturing his attention. “But I can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.”
After examining the test in daylight for several minutes, we decided I should take another. Thankfully, I had purchased a three-pack. Smart thinking. The second test revealed a slightly darker line, albeit still faint.
“What should it look like if you’re not pregnant?” he asked.
“There shouldn’t be anything in the circle. See?” I pointed to the instructions.
He was skeptical. “Do you want to take the dog for a walk?”
“Sure. Aren’t you concerned?” I held up two positive pregnancy tests, feeling a wave of anxiety. He seemed unfazed, and I wished he would share my excitement.
During our walk, we came up with an idea: he would take the last test in the pack to see what a negative result looked like. Brilliant!
I was eager to return home, but our dog, a slow-moving English Bulldog named Max, didn’t seem to share my urgency. He was blissfully unaware of my escalating anxiety.
“Isn’t there a home test or something else that can determine if you’re pregnant?” my partner asked.
“Yes,” I said, “It’s when you miss your period and feel awful.” Check and check.
Unsurprisingly, no line appeared on his test—not even a faint one. We decided to buy another two-pack of tests from a different brand to ensure we understood the results correctly. To my astonishment, both tests came back positive. If this were a commercial, we would have embraced joyfully and immediately begun planning for a nursery. But this was real life. After four positive home tests, I arranged for a blood draw the following day, spending the night wide awake, imagining how we could reconfigure our second bedroom for a baby.
The next day, the blood test confirmed the presence of hCG in my system, but at a low level. My doctor informed me that I would need an ultrasound to verify the pregnancy’s viability, but I had to wait a minimum of eight days. “Does that mean there’s something wrong?” I inquired. The reply was brief: 20 to 30 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage during the first trimester.
I returned to my search online, discovering that low hCG levels could indicate anything from a normal early pregnancy to remnants of a miscarriage, or even an ectopic pregnancy. I learned that a low hCG level doesn’t necessarily signify anything; what matters is whether the levels rise appropriately.
So, was I pregnant? Or not? Did I once have a pregnancy? Did I need another blood test? My doctor didn’t suggest a follow-up, so I took the initiative to request one. Did he really expect me to wait patiently for eight days to determine if my pregnancy was “viable”? After three days, I received the results. Although the wait was agonizing, the hormone level had risen appropriately since my last test. I was indeed pregnant! We were expecting a baby!
The first call I made after telling my partner was to my friend Lily, who had recently given birth after a long journey to conception.
“What’s up?” she answered.
“Well…” I hesitated. “Something’s up.”
“You’re pregnant!” she exclaimed.
“Yes!” I screamed, relaying the emotional rollercoaster I had just endured.
“Ah, yes,” she replied. “You’ll need ultrasounds to monitor the baby’s growth. Even after hearing a heartbeat at the first ultrasound, you’ll have to wait for the second to confirm everything is progressing well.”
The wait continued?
“You shouldn’t announce your pregnancy until the second trimester,” she cautioned, recounting her own experiences.
Not until the second trimester? That was still at least two months away! My partner had already informed his mother, and I had planned to tell mine that night. I wanted to shout my news from the rooftops.
Many of my friends have children; my sister has four. So why had no one ever mentioned the concept of pregnancy limbo? The initial three months where you are undeniably pregnant yet must navigate a series of uncertainties—Are my hCG levels rising? Is the baby developing as expected? Am I through the first trimester?—before truly celebrating. Before telling others. Before rearranging closets and planning parental leave. Before panicking about labor.
I felt as though my pregnancy was unfolding in stages: feeling pregnant, maybe pregnant, probably pregnant, and finally, pregnant but cautious. In those early days, how could I love something—someone—who might never develop beyond a cluster of cells in my uterus? Yet, I did, instantly. I cherished that little fertilized egg the moment I learned of its existence.
Thirteen weeks into my pregnancy, that fertilized egg has officially become a fetus, and I’ve shared the news with everyone. I’m beginning to understand that this is merely the beginning of a lifetime of concern. Can a parent ever truly relax about their child’s well-being? While we’ve safely navigated the first trimester, what about the next six months? What lies ahead after birth? What about the first year? What about school? What about heartbreak?
Perhaps pregnancy limbo is nature’s way of preparing parents for a lifetime of worry. All we can do is love that little fertilized egg, take good care of it, and hope for the best.
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Summary
Pregnancy limbo is a confusing stage where expectant parents navigate uncertainty about their pregnancy’s viability. This article follows a personal journey filled with emotional highs and lows, reflecting on the lack of guidance regarding the initial months of pregnancy. The experience reveals the complexities of early pregnancy, including the anxiety and anticipation surrounding hCG levels and ultrasounds, leading to a deeper understanding of parental worry that extends beyond pregnancy.