I went maternity clothes shopping for the third time over the weekend. My MIL and I drove to the outlets. On a Saturday. The day before Mother’s Day. It wasn’t a mistake, but it certainly wasn’t without some discomfort.
The first time, buying a pair of jeans, the most uncomfortable it got was when I overheard the sales girl ask my MIL if this was my first. Naturally, MIL said yes, because she wouldn’t dream of bringing up my miscarriage with a stranger. But I wanted to rush out of the changing room and cry No! This isn’t my first! I felt torn. Bean will always be my first… But then what of this baby, the one who is thriving and wriggling and stretching out? Isn’t s/he also my first?
To anyone who knows me, I look pregnant. To those who don’t, I look a little pot-bellied and puffy. Regardless, I officially no longer fit into my regular jeans. I couldn’t even bring the seams together. Yesterday’s shopping trip was made out of necessity because I am fast running out of things to wear.
I still feel like a fraud though, walking into a maternity store. I lack the blissful excitement of pregnancy. I don’t want to be asked how far along I am, if this is my first. I have no gushing answers.
Normally when I shop I want to be left alone. When shopping for maternity clothes, I feel like that even more.
For the most part, it went okay. Until I overheard the conversation between two heavily pregnant women in the cubicles next to mine. Breathlessly excited conversations about how they were going to have a water birth, they were so unselfconscious they can’t have known loss or infertility. Is this your first? asked one. The other replied it was her second. Ohhhh, the first lady gushed, what advice would you give a first-timer?
Perhaps I should have paid attention to the answer, for my own benefit, but I miserably blocked out the conversation. I stood in line to pay for a few things, winced when the sales girl pointed out the baby store coupon and declined to sign up for their mailing list. I mean, as if. I signed up for a pregnancy newsletter last year, and I’d still get the odd email months after I’d unsubscribed. (I won’t use most pregnancy apps for the same reason.)
As we left the store, MIL asked what was wrong. I sighed and told her about the conversation I’d overheard. I explained simply: My journey is so different to everyone else’s. I have nothing in common with most pregnant women. It’s like, they’re there happily shopping. I’m there out of reluctant necessity. They’re looking forward to meeting their babies this year; I’m hoping to.
I want to try a prenatal yoga class, but daren’t. Pregnant bellies no longer make me suck in my breath, but the idea of being in a room with two or more pregnant strangers brings on mild anxiety. I envy them their confidence, their cheerful conversations about having a baby — the most natural thing in the world! Chances are, they haven’t had to spend tens of thousands of dollars to get to where they are. They trust in the process. Their bodies haven’t let them down. I can’t separate my journey to get pregnant from the pregnancy itself. I wish there were a prenatal yoga class for people who’ve struggled with loss or infertility (or both!).
I’m straddling the line between the pregnant and the not. I’m in a No Man’s Land. Please don’t misunderstand, I’m grateful to be here. And if I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that everyone has some kind of shit that they’re dealing with. No one’s life is perfect, no matter what they project on Facebook.
Still, I don’t really feel like I fit in anywhere. I’m too pregnant to for some people still struggling to conceive. (I am aware of who has unsubscribed from OFT or stopped following me on Twitter, and I understand why. Not six months ago was I in their shoes.) But I’m not pregnant enough to breeze through life and be open with The World about Tiny. And I certainly don’t feel part of the Normal Pregnant Women’s Club.
As I said to someone on Twitter yesterday, I might not be in the trenches anymore, but I’m still covered in mud.
♥
On a unrelated note: today is the 13th anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and the first time I won’t be calling my (late) grandmother on this day to let her know I’m thinking of her. Their generosity covered most of our DEIVF costs. I really wish I could tell them how much their gift has meant to DH and me. Thank you so much, D & R.
FWIW, every IFer experiences pregnancy differently, so I don’t think it’s fair to assume that someone who was excited about her upcoming water birth was blissfully ignorant of the struggles many (and possibly herself) go through to conceive. My journey was different than yours, but when I got pregnant, I finally hit a point of having faith in and confidence in my body – and I felt GOOD while I was pregnant and about my birthing time. I think a lot of that had to do with my Hypnobabies education, but I truly don’t think I’m any less of a person who stfuggled with infertility just because I was able to feel good about pregnancy.
Sorry for the rant, but this has always bugged me – that somehow in the IF world we should be afraid our entire pregnancies as well b/c we have heard the horror stories and somehow don’t deserve to be calm and have faith in our bodies and the process for once.
I’ll be honest, Josey, I’m quite confused by your comment. I don’t think I wrote anything to suggest that I was condemning other women, their pregnancies, or their birthing choices. I am genuinely confused as to what I possibly could have said to make you feel like you’re “less of a person who struggled with infertility just because I was able to feel good about pregnancy.”
I’m sorry that you have been made to feel this way in the past that you are “always bugged” by people who have a hard time relating to pregnant women who seemingly sail through their pregnancies. As I wrote, “chances are” such women don’t know infertility or loss — the “chances are” *is* a fair assumption when you consider that statistically if 1/8 couples has experienced infertility, then 7/8 couples have not… Or, to be more conservative, if 1/4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage, that still means that 75% of women have not experienced a loss. Biologically speaking, most people have not experienced infertility or loss, let alone both, so I disagree, I do think it’s a fair assumption that most (I never said all) women who are excited about their pregnancies have conceived painlessly.
In my (admittedly limited) experience of witnessing those who are finally pregnant after infertility, loss, or both, most women have a hard time enjoying their pregnancies — there isn’t always a choice. From what I can see in our community, it seems like the more losses a woman has, the more fearful she is in her subsequent pregnancy. Some women are filled with dread at the sight of a positive pregnancy test; others view an ultrasound as a thing of terror; some fret throughout their pregnancies and don’t relax until their baby is safely in their arms. As you say, every IFer experiences pregnancy differently and I think it’s important that we be able to express our anxieties and fears in a safe environment.
I fall somewhere in the middle: the prospect of an ultrasound brings some trepidation, but I can relax after knowing there’s a heartbeat; both my husband and I have a lot of anxiety about my pregnancy, but we are getting more hopeful by the day. We still haven’t told our extended families in case we have to ‘untell’ them. Yet I don’t plan on renting a Doppler but support those women who do. I have plenty of neuroses about this pregnancy, but I also recognise the fact that I am able research strollers or set foot in a maternity store (stressful as that might be!) as quite lucky. I’m sure there are some women who are farther along in their pregnancies who still haven’t done either of those things, but that doesn’t mean that they automatically begrudge me or that they somehow make me feel less of a person.
This post was about my feelings about adjusting to being pregnant after miscarriage and infertility, and how I can’t relate to other pregnant women *right now*. Maybe that will change, maybe it won’t, but that’s in the unknowable future. My fears of losing this pregnancy stem mainly from the fact that I had a miscarriage. The infertility and loss of genetic connection only compound those feelings. Those experiences are in the past, but they affect the present. What other perspective can I write from?
There are no “shoulds” here. Of course we all *deserve* to be calm and have faith in our bodies and should be able to enjoy our pregnancies, but the reality is many of us don’t, at least not for a while, and that’s just how it is. I personally feel better for having made it to the second tri, but I know some women in their third tri who are still terrified. Not because they should or shouldn’t feel that way, or even WANT to feel that way, but because they just DO. And that’s not a criticism of those who don’t share their fears.
I think it’s fantastic that you were finally able to enjoy your pregnancies (you don’t say when this happened), but I’m guessing you are in a lucky minority of women who feel that way. I’m genuinely curious to know: do you think H’s surprise conception was incredibly healing? Or did you feel this way in both your pregnancies? Personally, I would push irritation aside and focus more on the fact that what you are complaining about is actually quite enviable! That being said, I have no idea what has been said to you in the past for you to feel the need to rant, but I am sorry that you have been made to feel like an outsider. No one deserves that. xo
covered in mud with ya.
*fistbump*
At 24 weeks, I still feel like a fraud in maternity stores. (I try to shop online, if I can help it.) And I still cringe at “Is this your first?”, because, I feel like I’m denying my first baby if I say “yes,” but like you pointed out, in most ways, this baby IS my first. Sometimes I say “This is the first time I’ve been THIS far along….” and leave it at that, unless they ask follow up questions. But that’s only if I’m in the mood to talk about it. Sometimes, I’m not in the mood to talk about any of it – my loss, my infertility, this pregnancy.
Shopping online is a BRILLIANT idea! Considering I have to buy all my shoes online (size 11) I’m shocked this didn’t occur to me before! Which sites do you recommend?
Yeah, it does feel like you’re denying one baby or another, doesn’t it? And, as you say, sometimes you can answer with a short version of the truth; other times it’s just easier to fix a smile and say yes.
xoxo