We are expecting another baby in the early fall. This fact is what I remember (literally, feel) when I find myself gazing at job boards and going on fruitless interviews and navigating this whole wretched situation. Somehow we hit the lottery with Joanna. Modern medicine, the gods, every four-leaf clover in
on us a year and a half ago and now we get to do it all over again.
I’ve gone on two interviews, both in the city and both (in my mind) hard-driving positions that don’t lend themselves to any sort of balance . The second was just yesterday but the first was last week and they wanted to have one last phone screen before moving to offer – and jeez, what a surprising, glorious position to be in – but I just couldn’t do it. They didn’t know I was pregnant, and the position responsibilities peak in October (oh), and it’s what I’ve been doing for many years and what I desperately want to leave behind. It was really a non-starter, but I went anyway. It’s hard to turn down an interview even when you know in your gut it’s not right, or you probably cannot fulfill the job obligations. So I find myself in the very frustrating situation of being smack dab in the middle of a pregnancy and unemployed. But also – and here I am, typing this for second time – expecting a baby.
And that trumps everything.
We found out in late February, when I was trying to calculate if I was going to get my pesky period in
Mexico when I realized I couldn’t
remember when I had it last. Maybe
Christmas time? Before then? After?
I had no clue. I feel very
ignorant typing that. Like, maybe I
should have a handle on my body or something, but you’ve got to remember –
things are funky down there! – and a 28-day cycle is a foreign concept.
The telltale sign of pregnancy – I’ve learned – is an uptick in Oreo consumption. I mean, I remember this clearly – I specifically went into the grocery store to buy Oreos (who does that?) and walked by the pharmacy and bought the cheapest test (store brand, because really, there was just no way). I even helped myself to a huge cup of coffee that morning, knowing full-well my egg got caught up in my kinky fallopian tubes and I just didn’t ovulate. I am not the girl who just gets pregnant. In our early days of infertility – before blood tests confirmed that I was or wasn’t expecting – I had gone through many tears and many bargain two-packs of pregnancy tests.
Matt and I are not ignorant: since having Annie we have scrapped protection because, if for some miraculous reason it happened – that would be a good thing. A really, really good thing. And after a year it did. I am not one to mince words – or do cutesy things when announcing news – so I called him three minutes after I peed on that stick, in a semi-panic, and said, “But it’s too soon!” Our children will be just under two years apart (22.5 months). Matt laughed nervously, happily, giddily. I wanted Annie out of toddlerhood before having another. I just don’t have the energy, I said. And I told him work is going so poorly, that everything wasn’t just right yet. And how funny to be typing that today, now out of work. Job searching while midway through a pregnancy is almost a fruitless exercise, and in that, coupled with inconvenience, there is some very real solace. There is solace when Matt ran down our finances, took me by the shoulders, and said, “We will be OK. We will be fine. Relax. Be picky. Take your time. Find something you will love. I know you will probably not go back until well after the baby is born.”
So here we are. I am in my 21st week of pregnancy and due in early October. Unlike with Annie, I have been feeling this baby kick from week 17. All day. Unrelenting. Beautiful. Like with Annie, we have decided not to find out if this is a boy or a girl. Matt wants another girl, and as a girl who never really had guy friends – or a brother – I’m curious about a boy.
Instead of plotting out the perfect time, there is now some relief in completing our family earlier than expected. We are not newborn people – we find infinite delight as Annie grows older and there is more give and take – and I’m glad we’ll be in our early 30’s when completing this portion of babyhood.
Because boy I am tired.
Maybe it’s the pregnancy (I haven’t been sleeping well). Or maybe Crohn’s (I always felt – in general – I was more tired than others, and frequent blood work confirms that yes, I’m deficient in this and that). I’m happy we’ll be young parents. When it's all said and done, I'm happy our path took us to here: I’m happy I met Matt when I was 21 and we married at 26 and we will have our children by 31. In terms of fertility, how very fortunate we have been. To be younger. To have that gift of time. I am reminded of this frequently.
Thank you for following this blog, and our story. I know I haven’t written about Crohn’s in quite some time, and this little space on the internet has become a patchwork of our family life, for better or worse, and in sickness and in health.
Here’s to health.