I sensed something was off when I found myself tearful during a scene in a movie—definitely not typical behavior for me, especially while working out. Sure, it was a heartfelt story, but tears? Really?
In the days that followed, fatigue set in deeply. I felt as though weights were attached to my limbs, and my eyelids would occasionally shut against my will. Must be hormones, I convinced myself. My cycle was due any day now—oh wait, it should have arrived on Tuesday, and here it was Friday. Uh oh.
Pregnancy was out of the question. My partner and I had only been trying for a couple of weeks. Four days late? It was likely just a quirk of my natural cycle. According to the vast wisdom of the internet, stopping birth control could mean irregular periods or even skipped cycles. I was just having an off month. I wasn’t pregnant. Why do pregnancy symptoms and PMS have to be so similar? I was not pregnant.
By Saturday night, I had rationalized that I probably had the flu. My body ached, and I felt a bit feverish. Yet, I also experienced more telling symptoms: overwhelming tiredness, bouts of mild queasiness, and intense dizziness. Consulting Dr. Google yet again, I learned these were classic early pregnancy signs. Uh oh.
“I feel off,” I told my partner that night, lying on the couch, too exhausted to move. “I think we should get a pregnancy test.”
“You’re not pregnant,” he replied. “It’s too early.”
“But I feel really strange,” I insisted.
“Too soon,” he reiterated.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I conceded. It was indeed too soon.
I let the thought go and fell into a deep sleep for nine hours. The next morning, I felt almost back to normal. While out shopping, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to grab a pregnancy test. I even entertained the idea of buying a bottle of wine for later—just in case the test came back negative, which it surely would. The plan was to enjoy a drink before trying again.
Upon returning home, I stealthily took the test upstairs, not wanting to raise any alarms. After all, we had decided that my late period was nothing to worry about. The result was ambiguous; a faint line appeared—the telltale sign of pregnancy—but it was extremely light.
“Um,” I said, descending the stairs with the test in hand.
My partner looked up from the game he was engrossed in.
“Um,” I repeated.
“Um, so I took a pregnancy test…”
His interest piqued.
“…but I can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.” I held it out.
After examining it in good light, we concluded I should take another test. Thank goodness I had bought a three-pack. I took the second test, and the line was slightly darker, but still faint.
“Shouldn’t it be darker if you’re pregnant?” my partner asked.
“There shouldn’t be anything in the circle if I’m not pregnant.” I showed him the instructions, but he remained skeptical. “Want to take our dog for a walk?” he suggested.
“Sure. Aren’t you worried?” I asked, standing beside him, holding two positive tests. He was unfazed, which was a little frustrating.
During the walk, we decided it would be interesting to test the tests: my partner would take the last one to see what a definitely negative test looked like. Brilliant idea. I was anxious to get home, but our dog, Winston, was taking his sweet time.
“Isn’t there some home test or something to confirm pregnancy?” my partner asked.
“Yep,” I replied. “It’s when you don’t get your period and feel awful.” Check and check.
Surprise: no line appeared on my partner’s test. We rushed to the store for a different brand of tests, thinking it would help us interpret the results more accurately. Two more positives confirmed what we suspected. If this were a commercial for pregnancy tests, my partner and I would have embraced joyfully and planned our nursery. But this was reality. After four positive tests, I scheduled a blood test for the next day and spent the night awake, contemplating how to rearrange our second bedroom for a baby.
The blood test confirmed low levels of hCG. My doctor informed me I would need an ultrasound to check the pregnancy’s viability, but I had to wait a week. “Does this mean something’s wrong?” I asked. His terse response noted that 20 to 30 percent of pregnancies terminate in the first trimester. That was it.
More internet searching ensued. I learned that low hCG could mean anything from a healthy early pregnancy to a miscarriage or even an ectopic pregnancy. So, was I pregnant? Was I not? Did I need another blood test?
My doctor didn’t suggest a follow-up test, so I requested one. Did he really expect me to wait patiently for eight days for an ultrasound to determine if my pregnancy was “viable”? After three days of waiting for the second test results, I learned that my hormone levels had risen appropriately. So I’m pregnant! We’re having a baby! Oh my God!
The first person I called was my close friend, who had recently given birth after years of trying. “You’re pregnant!” she exclaimed.
“Yes!” I screamed. I filled her in on the emotional rollercoaster I had just experienced.
“Oh yeah,” she said casually. “You need ultrasounds to check if the baby is growing. Even if they find a heartbeat, you have to wait until the second ultrasound.”
So the uncertainty wasn’t over? “You shouldn’t tell anyone until the second trimester,” she advised, sharing her own experience.
Not tell anyone? That would be another two months! My partner had already informed his mom, and I was eager to share the news with my parents. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
Many of my friends are parents. My sister has four kids. So why didn’t anyone warn me about pregnancy limbo? Those first three months, when you’re definitely pregnant but waiting for a series of milestones—Is my hCG level rising? Is the baby growing? Have I made it past the first trimester?—before you can fully embrace the experience, share the news, or plan for maternity leave.
I felt as though I was becoming pregnant in stages: feeling pregnant, maybe pregnant, probably pregnant, and finally, pregnant but cautious. Instantly, I felt love for the tiny embryo that could easily become nothing more than a cluster of cells.
Now, at thirteen weeks, that tiny embryo has developed into a fetus, and I’ve shared the news. I’m beginning to understand that this is merely the onset of a lifetime of concern. While we’ve safely navigated the first trimester, what about the next six months? What happens after birth? What about the first year? School? Heartbreak?
Perhaps pregnancy limbo is nature’s way of preparing parents for a lifetime of worry. All we can do is care for that little fertilized egg and hope for the best. If you’re navigating your own journey, check out this helpful resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, navigating the early stages of pregnancy can be fraught with uncertainty and emotional turmoil. The experience of waiting and wondering can feel like a limbo, where hope and anxiety coexist. As expectant parents, it’s essential to embrace the journey, prepare for the future, and cherish each moment.