Story shared by Sarina C.
Pregnancy and I weren’t words I often used together in a sentence.
After almost seven years of marriage, three moves, two years of trying to conceive, and a pandemic that didn’t have an end in sight, I resigned myself to the fact that there was one title I wouldn’t be adding to the list of hats I wore—mama.
It’s not that we weren’t trying. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I charted ovulation, I ate healthily, I limited all the things you weren’t supposed to have — caffeine, alcohol, ‘junk’ foods — all to no avail.
I grew increasingly frustrated with my body. We had gone to a fertility clinic and had bloodwork done every six months like clockwork. We both did several tests; there was nothing wrong with either of us. It was just a waiting game. The joke was on me, as patience is the one virtue I don’t have.
After almost seven years of marriage, three moves, two years of trying to conceive, a pandemic that didn’t have an end in sight, and a heavy resignation of not being able to have the one title I so desperately craved…
I felt different. I couldn’t put it into words, but Ludwig Bemelmans, author of ‘Madeline’, put into words what I was feeling — something is not right.
I took a test… and then another, and another.
image used with permission from JenAndKeanaShop on Etsy – visit them and get your own cap!
On each one, two pink lines stared back at me. Through hazy eyes, I looked at my spouse.
I guess I’ll be adding ‘mama’ to the hats I wear after all.
(editor’s note – if you like the Mommy embroidered hat, you can order it directly from the JenandKeanaShop on Etsy)