In Disguise

Right now I feel the need to buy a trench coat and Groucho-style pair of glasses/fake nose/mustache, a new pair of large, dark concealing sunglasses and a hat to hide my hair.

In other words, I need a disguise.

I'm trying to hide out and I'm not convinced it's working. The irony of being 4 weeks pregnant and reading posts about first appointments and what to eat and why you should never ever wash your face with anything containing salicylic acid you whore that values clear skin over your child's brain! when I had expected to be holding a newborn isn't lost on me. However, it is lost on many of these random newbies who are fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked and dewey-eyed with wonder at their newly matnernal state. Not only do they not know me, they don't know my history. I want to hide amongst them and pretend to be excited, but I feel more like the crotchety old lady who is shaking her fist in ire at the young'uns and what they're coming too. I'm afraid to say too much, lest I freak people out. I don't much enjoy being a horror story or a cautionary tale, a word of warning about what can happen, even when you do everything right.

And then there are the congratulations and well-wishes that flooded in when I got caught trying to be sly somewhere. Oops. At my size, stealth isn't generally optional. . . but I cannot tell you how lovely it was. How warmed I felt, how teary I got. And how badly I wanted to screech, "SHHHHHHHH! Stop it! Be quiet! Don't say anything! The universe might hear and realize it overlooked me this time and and something bad will happen if you don't shut up because the fates will find out they skipped me. Shhhhhhhh, please, please be quiet."

Even here. . . 4 weeks. So. . . paltry. So tiny. So unreal. I still expect to see my period any moment. I evaluate symptoms and sit on my hands to stop myself from taking another test. It doesn't mean anything yet, you know? No period, a positive test (and that was pretty faint . . . well, the other brand was more clearly positive, but still . . .). When I think of it, my mouth goes dry and I think - now is when the placenta is separating and starting to form. You know assuming it's not already died. Oh, God. I need more folic acid. And baby aspirin. Would it really be bad to down the whole bottle? I need to . . . to . . . to do something to make this happen the way it's supposed to.

I feel like an imposter, a fate-tempter, a fraud. I have to get it out there, I have to talk about it, so it doesn't eat me, consume me, carry me away forever. But I feel so guilty. The congratulations are so nice and so scary. It feels like so much pressure. The first congratulations from someone who was unaware of the drama behind the tests made me think, "For what? I've not done anything yet. I haven't even had a beta yet! I'm going to be so embarrassed if the betas are bad." I feel like people are so happy for us that I'm destined to disappoint everyone. I mean, we don't know anything yet and I'm so far beyond a positive test = a baby. I barely believe it = a pregnancy.

I feel like the girl who cried wolf. I asked a question on a pregnancy after loss board and someone was shocked that I would say anything before 12 weeks. She suggested I start a new blog just about pregnancy and post there for now. I gave my screen a blank look. Uh, isn't that the primary purpose of this place? Oh, right, she doesn't know me. Right. Well, no. That won't work. And what difference could 12 weeks make? 20 weeks and a perfect u/s made no difference. There is no safe place, there is no safe time, there is no release of breath and sigh of relief. Even in life after loss there is innocence, apparently, but not for me. So what matter if I keep it to myself or no?

As I repeat over and over, what will be, will be. Whatever is going to happen is already in motion and I can do nothing to alter the course that has been set. But perhaps if I just stuck my head under a blanket . . .