Pregnancy
Just a week ago, I discovered I was pregnant. After six weeks without a period, I had a nagging feeling when I bought the test that it would show positive.
My partner paused his video game as I entered the room, and when I told him the news, we both just sat on the couch in silence, unsure of what to say next.
This wasn’t an unexpected surprise. As a thirty-five-year-old with a stable career in San Francisco—one I’ve built over the last decade—this was a decision we had made together. My partner and I had crafted a comfortable life side by side, and we agreed that if there was a right time to start a family, it was now. I stopped taking the pill and for seven months, we let fate take its course. If I got pregnant, we’d welcome a baby; if not, we’d continue our lives as usual.
We’re both educated and aware of what happens when you choose to have unprotected sex. Yet, even with something we both wanted, it felt incredibly daunting.
The following day, we still hadn’t discussed the pregnancy, each of us hoping maybe the test was faulty or that we had somehow miscalculated.
But as the days passed, the reality set in: we were having a baby.
Since that moment, tears have become my new normal. They come unexpectedly, whether I’m brushing my teeth in the morning or snacking at work. And these aren’t joyful tears, but rather a flood of crocodile tears that I can’t seem to wipe away fast enough.
I needed to speak to someone, to hear that everything would be okay. I called my mom, hoping for some wisdom. “Are you so excited?” she asked.
That was the tipping point. I broke down, muffling my sobs so she wouldn’t hear my distress.
No, I am not excited. In fact, I’m terrified, angry, and sad—everything but excited.
Guilt washed over me. Isn’t pregnancy supposed to be filled with joy? Don’t mothers beam with happiness upon hearing the news? Social media is filled with pictures of glowing women, celebratory gender reveals, and Pinterest-worthy announcements. The mere thought of any of that makes me panic even more.
What’s wrong with me? Does this mean I won’t be a good mother? Am I the only woman who’s ever felt disappointment in a planned pregnancy?
I tried to avoid the Internet, but the need for understanding pulled me in. I wasn’t sure what to search for, so I typed out my feelings: “I just found out I’m pregnant and I’m not excited.”
To my surprise, a plethora of articles popped up, and I clicked on one that resonated deeply. A woman shared her experience of feeling lost despite having worked hard on her career and loving her life. She and her husband decided to leave things to chance, and now she found herself questioning the pregnancy: “I’m not excited. How can I bring a child into this world feeling this way?”
Suddenly, I felt a weight lift. Here was someone who understood my shame. Someone who loved her childless life and also felt sadness about being pregnant.
I braced myself for negative comments but was met with compassion instead. One woman, who desperately wanted children but had faced multiple miscarriages, expressed her own feelings of sadness when realizing she would carry her baby to term. Another shared her own similar experience—how she mourned the life she had before welcoming her first child.
Sure, I thought, they’re just random women online. But could they really be as different from me as I feared?
I hesitated to share my feelings further. After my conversation with my mom left me reeling, I texted a close friend who has a child: “I’m not ready for this to be public yet, but I’m pregnant and freaking out. Is that normal?”
Her call came almost immediately. “It’s totally normal,” she said, and I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
She went on to recount her own journey—the day she found out she was pregnant, how she waited a full day to tell her husband, and how she felt overwhelmed despite having planned for it. It wasn’t until she heard her daughter’s heartbeat that she began to feel anything other than despair.
When we hung up, I cried again, but this time there was a mix of relief in with the sadness. I’m not alone. This feeling is normal.
It’s a mantra I’ll need to repeat to myself over the next eight months and share with friends who will remind me too.
The truth is, it’s normal. I’m normal.
If you’re navigating similar feelings, check out this resource on pregnancy and home insemination for helpful insights. And if you’re interested in home insemination kits, visit Make A Mom for quality options. For more on the journey, explore this other blog post that dives deeper into the topic.