Why I Almost Didn't Post a Pregnancy Announcement

A few days ago  I shared on social media the very exciting news that I am pregnant. (It was too hard to keep it a secret any longer--I mean, I am bursting with love for this little being.)

It took me a long time to feel comfortable doing this, not only because I've been fairly certain since I found I was pregnant that the more people I told the more likely something would go wrong, but also because I know that social media pregnancy (and birth) announcements can have unintended side effects. While so much love and excitement has been shared, for which I am so grateful (you can never have too much love when you are pregnant!) I also know that there might be some people who saw that post and instead of feeling joy, felt their heart fall into their stomach, and maybe took a minute to cry in the kitchen. 

I know because I have been that person.

It was almost two years to the day of my first fertility appointment that I had a positive pregnancy test. I know all to well the endless cycle of hope and optimism met with the feeling of defeat and failure month after month, and how over time it can be difficult to continue to feel true joy in the face of others’ great happiness. I know how hearing about “oops” or "I didn't even know" or "we weren't even trying" pregnancies can rattle, when there is zero percent chance you will ever get pregnant without the help of medicine and science. How even watching House Hunters--with couples who confidently say “when we decide to have a kid” as though that’s a given, an easy task to achieve—can become frustrating. I know how there are people out there thinking "It only took you two years?" because for some, that comparatively seems like nothing at all. I know all of the statistics, because I am one, and at one point actually sat through my community health students giving a presentation about the mental health toll of infertility, and nodded yes repeatedly, because I know the stories behind the stats. I have monitored every feeling in my body, grasping on to anything ‘different’ that might signal I was pregnant, only to be reminded once and again that I am not always right. I know how the crying in the kitchen, on the couch, in the car on the way home from a fertility appointment, can almost break you. And now I know the fear the of every day losing what is, truly, a miracle--a gift that makes you believe 100% in the power and magic of both faith and science.

I share all this not to gloat about my own currently exploding joy, or tell you that it will happen to you, too—because I honestly don’t know that it will…just as I didn’t know if it would ever happen to me. Maybe it will reinforce your cautious optimism, or give you a glimmer of hope in the darkness. And if nothing else, I had to say it just to let you know that I see you, I hear you, and I feel you more than you even know.