I first sensed something was amiss when I found myself tearing up during a viewing of Sister Act 2. I’m not typically one to cry, especially while exercising on my treadmill! Sure, the movie has its touching moments, but really?
In the days following this emotional episode, I was hit with a wave of fatigue. I mean, I felt completely drained, as if my limbs were weighted down with concrete. My eyelids would occasionally droop, refusing to lift again. I attributed it all to hormones, telling myself my period was due any day. But wait—shouldn’t it have started on Tuesday? It was now Friday. Uh oh.
Surely, I couldn’t be pregnant. My partner and I had only been trying for a couple of weeks. Four days late? It seemed too soon. I assured myself it was just a natural cycle. According to the internet, when a woman stops taking the pill, her body can take a while to adjust—sometimes skipping a cycle altogether. That had to be the case. I was just experiencing a skipped period. Nope, I was not pregnant. Why do pregnancy symptoms mimic PMS so closely?
By Saturday night, I had convinced myself I probably had the flu. My muscles ached, and I felt uncomfortably warm. But then there were those other, more telling symptoms: extreme exhaustion, fleeting nausea, and a wave of dizziness. Consulting Dr. Google once again, I found that these were classic early signs of pregnancy. Uh oh.
“I feel really strange,” I confessed to my partner later that night, sprawled out on the couch, too exhausted to do much more than blink. “Maybe we should get a pregnancy test.”
“You’re not pregnant,” he reassured me. “It’s too early.”
“But I feel so weird!” I insisted.
“It’s too soon,” he replied.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I conceded. It did feel too early.
I let the idea go and ended up sleeping soundly for nine hours. But the next day, a trip to the store meant I could grab a pregnancy test. I even thought about picking up a bottle of wine for when the test inevitably came back negative. After all, I wanted to enjoy that brief period when drinking was still an option—right after the test results but before any baby-making resumed.
Once home, I snuck upstairs and took the test without telling my partner. I felt a little sheepish; we had concluded I was just skipping a period.
The result was ambiguous. A line appeared—indicating pregnancy—but it was very faint.
“Um…” I hesitated as I came down the stairs, test in hand.
He glanced up from the football game he was engrossed in.
“Um…” I repeated.
He returned his focus to the TV.
“Um, so I took a pregnancy test…” Finally, I had his attention. “But I can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.” I showed him the test.
After examining it together under good light, we decided I should take another one. I had bought a three-pack—smart thinking! The second test showed a slightly darker line, but it was still faint.
“What’s it supposed to look like if you’re not pregnant?” my partner inquired.
“There shouldn’t be anything in the circle at all. See?” I pointed to the instructions.
He seemed doubtful. “Want to take Pacino for a walk with me?” he suggested.
“Sure. Aren’t you freaking out?” I stood there with two positive tests in hand, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. He was calm. I kind of wished he would share my anxiety.
A few minutes into the walk, we devised a plan: my partner would take the last test in the three-pack to see what a negative result looked like. Brilliant!
I was eager to get back home, but Pacino, our English Bulldog, was taking his sweet time. He clearly had no idea I was slowly losing my mind.
“Isn’t there some at-home test to find out if you’re pregnant?” my partner asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s called ‘not getting your period while feeling awful.’” Check and check.
Surprise! My partner’s test showed no line at all—not even a hint of one. We ventured back to the store for another two-pack of tests, opting for a different brand to ensure we were interpreting the symbols correctly. Two more positives followed. If this were a commercial, we would have embraced, laughed, and happily planned for a nursery. But this was reality. After four positive tests, I scheduled a blood draw for the next day, spending the entire night awake, imagining how to rearrange the second bedroom for a baby.
The next day, my blood test indicated low levels of hCG. My doctor suggested an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy’s viability, but I’d have to wait at least eight days for that. “Does this mean something is wrong?” I asked. His reply was a brief note that 20 to 30 percent of pregnancies end in the first trimester. That was all I got.
Back to the internet I went. I learned that low hCG levels could signify a normal early pregnancy, remnants of a miscarriage, or an ectopic pregnancy. It was all so confusing! Was I pregnant? Not pregnant? Was I or wasn’t I? I requested a follow-up blood test since my doctor hadn’t offered one. Did he expect me to wait eight days, anxious to know if my pregnancy was “viable”? After three days for the second test and another day for results, I finally learned that my hormone levels had risen appropriately. So, I was pregnant! We were having a baby! Oh my goodness!
The first person I called was my friend Marie, who had recently become a mother after years of trying.
“What’s up?” she answered.
“Well…” I said, “I have some news.”
“You’re pregnant!” she exclaimed.
“Yes!” I screamed, then shared the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on.
“Oh yeah,” she replied. “You’ll need ultrasounds to confirm the baby is developing. Even if you hear a heartbeat, you’ll have to wait for the second ultrasound to see if the baby is growing.”
Wait, it wasn’t over yet?
“You can’t tell anyone until the second trimester,” she cautioned. “That’s the mistake I made.”
Not tell anyone until the second trimester? That would mean waiting at least another two months! My partner had already told his mom, and I wanted to share the news with my parents that very night. I was bursting to tell every stranger I passed.
Many of my friends have kids; my sister has four. So, why hadn’t anyone prepared me for this “pregnancy limbo”? Those first three months when you’re certainly pregnant but must navigate a maze of benchmarks—Is my hCG level rising? Is the baby developing? Am I past the first trimester yet?—before you can truly celebrate. Before you can share the joy with everyone. Before you can start planning for maternity leave. Before you start worrying about labor.
In those initial days, I felt as if I was gradually becoming pregnant: feeling pregnant, maybe pregnant, probably pregnant, and finally, pregnant but cautious. How could I love something or someone who might never grow beyond a few cells in my body? Yet, I did. I loved that little fertilized egg from the moment I discovered it was part of me.
Now thirteen weeks along, that fertilized egg is officially a fetus, and I’ve shared the news with everyone. I’m starting to realize this is just the beginning of a lifetime filled with worry. Although we’ve safely crossed the first trimester hurdle, what about the next six months? And after the baby arrives? What about the first year? The school years? The heartbreaks? What comes after that?
Perhaps pregnancy limbo is nature’s way of preparing parents for a lifetime of concern. All we can do is love that tiny fertilized egg, take care of it, and hope for the best.
For more information about pregnancy and home insemination, consider checking out this excellent resource on intrauterine insemination or explore the home insemination kits available. If you have questions, feel free to reach out through this link.