I am pregnant, and Richard and I are so happy to be expecting a baby girl in less than a month. I feel like I’ve lived with this pregnancy for so long now, and have gotten so used to my new lifestyle (decaf coffee, no wine, no Jillian Michaels 30-day Shred) and my big belly that everyone must know, but last week someone came up to me at Trader Joe’s and gasped, “Belle? Are you pregnant?” (Trust me, it is quite obvious, but she was very sweet.)
I didn’t post about it here because, well, I wasn’t posting much, but also because it felt like such fragile and improbable news. In the spring, when I was newly pregnant, I collected four-leaf clovers that I found along the river in a small notebook I used to take with me to the RE office. The first half of the book is all notes from those visits: E2 levels and follicle counts, plus the flavors of the Keurig machine in the reception area, what was on television, the color and texture of the wallpaper… The second half is filled with dozens and dozens of pressed clovers.
Even when we relaxed a little about the pregnancy, the news felt very personal, and when I thought of posting her sweet ultrasound profile (which I look at all the time), it occurred to me that I could see it as an invasion of her privacy, so I didn’t. I think after she’s born I’ll be able to tell whether she’d be okay with having her photo on a blog or not, and we’ll go from there, and in the meantime I can post a picture of Julius sleeping in her crib and Loretta sleeping in her basket of diapers.
(The photo above is of me in Iceland last Christmastime, the big trip Richard and I took before beginning IVF.)