I Never Got To Say Goodbye To Alcohol, And Other Confessions Of A Newly Pregnant Person

Pregnancy Test

The first thought that popped into my mind when I saw the “positive” sign on my First Response Early Result pee stick? “Wow, so that happened a lot faster than I anticipated.” I was shocked, ecstatic, amazed, and bouncing off the walls. The second thought that occurred to me? “Wow, so now I stop drinking. For a long time. BUT…BUT…BUT I NEVER SAID GOODBYE TO ALL THE WINE.” As someone who was recently diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and as someone who adores a glass of wine (or three) nearly every day, I had a lot to process the day I found out I was pregnant.

Now, of course I am able to give up the alcohol. I even politely smiled when my husband shared his glee over having a “DD” this summer (just kidding, I totally rolled my eyes and made the jerk-off motion). I am capable of having a fun time sans booze, I just don’t usually like to do so if I have the choice. After realizing what a long, hot summer it was going to be for yours truly, a rapid-fire series of other realizations began to dawn on me. I’m sorry, that’s not entirely accurate. A rapid-fire series of other realizations began to smack me in the face. Hard.

You see, my husband and I have been together for almost eight years. We’ve been married for one. We’ve lived together for seven. So we’ve had a good long while to get settled into a comfy life full of pets, Netflix, nights out with friends, nights in together, and quiet solitude when necessary. We’ve always known we wanted kids, and my PCOS diagnosis was difficult for us both. We weren’t in a rush to conceive, but when you’re told you might be in for a difficult time, well, things change. You start to worry. You start to play the “what if” game constantly, and we all know no one wins that game. To make a long story short, a couple of months of Metformin and ovulation predictor kits resulted in a pregnancy. Success! Except it happened so much faster than I expected. See, I like to keep my expectations pretty low in life. Don’t judge me – it usually ends up working in my favor, because I’m more often than not pleasantly surprised when things work out! But I quickly realized I was so focused on “what if this never happens for me?” that I never stopped to prepare myself for “how will you feel when this does happen for you?”

As a creature of habit (I get a strong sense of comfort from having a routine), I’m glad I have the next seven months to prepare myself for The Change that’s coming my way. As someone who doesn’t have a relationship with my own mother (a mutual choice), I’m feeling a little lost. When you come from a broken family, your routine and the life you make for yourself become your stability and saving grace. That’s just another thing I’ll have to say goodbye to as I create a new routine and new life for my new family. That, Netflix binge-a-thons, alone time, pretending my dog is my child, my body shape, general spontanaeity, and the life I’ve known with my husband for the better part of a decade. I don’t mean for this to sound as though I’m being a total Debbie Downer about an exciting and joyous new stage in our lives, I really don’t. We are thrilled to death and we both have found about a thousand new reasons to smile every day. Our families are crazy excited, and I know it’ll be one of those things where  a year from now, I’ll be saying things like “I can’t remember life before him/her” and all of that fun stuff.

But for now, I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to my favorite cheap wine, dippy eggs, deli meats (I’m from Pittsburgh and let’s just say I can’t imagine going through the next seven months sans a Primanti’s sandwich), feta cheese, and bras that don’t leave me with angry red indentations at the end of the day. (Totally taking suggestions for maternity bras I can also sleep in, so have at it!) I’ve also had to say goodbye to being a mostly sane, non-anxious person. Because at least 5-6 times a day, I’m wondering if it’s even still in there. I didn’t get an early ultrasound because I know exactly when we conceived, and I won’t get one until 18 weeks. I literally spend half of my day terrified that my little raspberry-sized embry-fetus is in peril. I’m even anxious about publicly admitting I’m pregnant when I’m only 9 weeks along. Am I jinxing myself? Am I being too much like Jill Duggar? WHO AM I AND ALSO WHOSE BREASTS ARE THESE?

It’s not going to be easy saying goodbye to the life I’ve known for 30 years. It makes me feel guilty and selfish, but I’m a little sad. I’m a lot scared. But I’m also incredibly excited to say hello to my new life this fall.

(photo: Shutterstock)

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