Telling people

It is hard to explain, but I'm having trouble telling people about our pregnancy. Granted, we're just a couple of days shy of 9 weeks, but with our last pregnancy at this point I was ready to scream it from the rooftops. But this time, I'm holding on to our little secret for dear life. Clutching it to my chest and not letting go.

It's not that I don't have faith that this pregnancy will be successful, because I do. Sure, I still have my moments of absolute, paralyzing fear that something will go wrong. But I also realize that I cannot live my life in fear. That my past does not dictate my future. That my body is meant to do procreate, dammit, and so it will. I live day by day, one day at a time.

I've only told my two closest "in real life" friends, those two people who were there for me during our miscarriage, that we are pregnant again. And I told my boss after my spotting scare that ended us up in the ER a few weeks ago. I only told my boss because I ran outta work like a bat outta hell, and there was an urgent legal request that needed to be reassigned in case I wasn't back at work the next day. She knew about our miscarriage, and I figured she should know why I was leaving work in such a strop, not knowing when I might return.

But other than those 3 people, nobody else from my "real life" knows besides Mr. Legalosaur, of course. Not my sister, not my parents, not my in-laws, nobody. And for some reason I'm reluctant to share our news with all these other people. It just doesn't feel right. This is my pregnancy, my baby, and I want to keep him or her just for me and Mr. Legalosaur for a little while.

Like most bloggers or other quasi-computer-geeks, I have an online persona too. And a whole shwack of online friends who are not connected to my life in any way except for knowing each other through a blog or a message board. That's not to say that there are not some deep relationships that have arisen out of these acquaintances, because there have been. Some of my best friends are people I have met only once, or maybe not even at all.

And it's easier to share my news with my online friends, for so many reasons. Perhaps because so many of them are mothers themselves. Because they get me, and don't dismiss my concerns and tell me to just relax and enjoy my pregnancy. They're good at empathizing. They freak out when I freak out about the spotting. My anxiety over the next ultrasound is their anxiety. The strange twinges that I'm having in my abdomen, well they get sympathy pains too.

Mr. Legalosaur, on the other hand, he is not a quasi-computer-geek like me, he doesn't have online friends. But he wants to share our happy news with somebody, and so he does. With his "real life" friends. It is, of course, his news to share. Who am I to stop him? I'm glad he's excited about this next step into parenthood. I am glad that he's so happy that he wants to share it with people in his life. I'm just not there yet. I don't know when I will be.

I think part of it is that I'm not ready for congratulations. I don't feel like I've earned them yet. Maybe when we're in our second trimester and I can breathe a little easier, then I'll be ready for them.

I'm also not ready for people to be in my face, asking me all the questions, like how do I feel, whether I'll be returning to work, do we have names picked out, will I breastfeed, etc. To me, I just want to savour these final weeks of the baby being all ours, our little secret, that no one can tarnish with their well-meaning but annoying advice.

Our miscarriage plays a part in these feelings, I'm sure. It's not that I'm less happy about this pregnancy that I was with our first. I'm very happy, and I love my baby just as much as the first time. But I'm more protective, if that makes any sense. Protective even about our baby's existence, I guess.

We'll be 9 weeks this Saturday. In week 11 I have my first prenatal appointment where, hopefully, we can pick up a heartbeat on the Doppler. And hopefully then I'll start feeling like sharing with my family at the very least. But if I don't, I'm not going to beat myself up. Eventually, it will feel right. Or it will become obvious. And then the cat will be outta the bag.