I took the pregnancy test early Sunday morning after my daughter’s first birthday party. I was on Day 33 of my cycle, so maybe I was a couple days late. But my period had been coming around the 34 Day mark for the last couple months, slowly normalizing through this post partum year. I suspected I might be pregnant only because of the telltale of ovulation pain I had experienced at a time that coincided with possible conception. We hadn’t really been trying, I had wanted to wait a couple more months for that.
After the requisite three minute waiting period, I looked at the test. One dark pink line was very clearly visible, the classic symbol for “not pregnant.” But as I went to throw the test away I paused. Squinting through my morning haze, I saw it. A faint, barely visible line. There were two lines. Although one was much more distinctive than the other. The second line was there, staring back at me like a quiet ghost.
I had listened to countless birth stories while I was pregnant with my daughter. Many started in disbelief at a questionable second line on a test, just like this. I shared a picture of the test with my private mom’s group on Facebook, analysis in the comments was overwhelmingly in favor of a positive test. My husband could see the line, although he was skeptical. My cousin said, “u should test again later.” So I spent the day in quiet limbo–was today the first day of a new beginning? Or just the first day in Scarlett’s second year? Either way I felt changed. After two more identically ambivalent tests, I ordered a pack of digital tests on Amazon Prime’s Next Day Delivery.
They arrived the very next afternoon. When I heard the courier knock and Alexa’s new package delivery alert, I abruptly stopped working and scooped the bundle off the front porch. My bladder was full and I was going to find out the truth now, one way or another. It was the first digital test I had ever taken. I waited anxiously as four digital bubbles blinked, then filled to solid one by one like a device charging. It was nice not having to time the results and wonder if my imagination had willed a second line into life. Then suddenly the bubbles disappeared. They were replaced by a single, unambiguous word:
Pregnant.
There it was clear and simple. No interpretation needed. I called my husband into the room and we smiled, nervous but happy. Overwhelmed by how quick this seemed, but excited. I shared the news with my parents, who were visiting for the birthday party. I shared the photo with a select few who I had already mentioned the possibility to. Congratulations rolled in on all fronts.
I sat on the couch, trying to adjust to the new reality. A due date of April 8th. Apparently my baby was the size of a poppy seed. So very tiny compared to my toddling one year old. I started thinking about how much time I could take off work. The babies would be 21 months apart. Two grades apart, birthdays in different seasons. Ever since I’d had Scarlett a second baby had been on my mind. I had wondered what it would be like, boy or girl, the age difference. How the second pregnancy might differ. While my husband had a beer, I sipped a La Croix. It was time for another long period of sobriety. I thought about what I wanted to do differently this time, continue running, eat healthier, meditate.
We had ordered Mexican food for dinner and when it arrived, I got up and moved to the kitchen table. I had a strange wet feeling between my legs. That’s odd, I wondered if I was imagining it with all the thinking about the baby. After finishing my food, I went to the bathroom to pee again. I sat thinking about my due date and wondering who else would be going through this whole pregnancy thing with me again. I wiped, I glanced at the toilet paper and froze. There was a dollop of blood. It was a soft, light pink color, about the size of a quarter. My heart stopped.
The entire time I had been pregnant with Scarlett I had not bled once. I knew that sometimes bleeding can happen, and the baby will be fine. But more often than not it is an ominous sign. This didn’t feel right. I slunk back out into the living room, once again uncertain of my status. Was I pregnant? Or was I not? This sure seemed like it could be the beginnings of my period, right on schedule. I didn’t tell anyone and pretended like everything was normal, but my mind was racing and I was googling. Could it be implantation bleeding? Maybe, but that seemed like it should’ve been earlier in the cycle. Could it be a ‘threatened miscarriage’? Possibly, but those often came with complications later down the line.
I had just started getting used to the idea of being pregnant again, and I had confirmed it only hours earlier. But now I was thrown back into ambivalence–I didn’t want to get attached to the idea, the April due date, the poppy seed if it wasn’t real. If it was going to be flushed out of my system with my monthly cycle, I wanted it to be easy enough to flush out of my mind. I searched my brain for how to feel. There was sadness, there was fear, there was a tinge of relief, there was confusion.
The next tense trip to the bathroom yielded the bright red painted toilet paper that was the undeniable harbinger of my period. I opened the cupboard and got out a panty liner. As I stood up, I caught a glimpse of a blue stick on the back of the toilet. The test was still there, only hours old. Pregnant. It said. Maybe, I thought softly with waning hope.
But the next few trips to the toilet yielded a different story. With a strange feeling of hesitant grief, I knew the poppy seed couldn’t survive the deluge of bleeding. But the test kept staring back at me. It was an artifact of a frozen moment in time that reminded me that it had been real, even if it was incredibly short lived. I had crossed back over the threshold into non-pregnancy, although it was impossible to say exactly when.
A few days later, after a seemingly normal period and a rollercoaster of emotions, I took another test. It confirmed what I had known to be true, I was no longer pregnant. It had passed, as quickly and subtly as it had whispered into being. I had only had those few hours to plan and dream of what might have been, yet I felt hollow and changed.
I am not sure still, if the word miscarriage feels right. I guess chemical pregnancy is the euphemism I will cling to, although it sounds so very sterile. There were not weeks of building excitement. No joining of April 2021 mom’s groups. There was no anxious trip to the doctor’s office. There was no ultrasound, no heartbeat. No need for a procedure.
So it makes me wonder, how many times has this happened to me before? Or to my friends? Was I ever “pregnant” for a day or two, or just a few hours before my cycle rained down right around the usual time? Was I blissfully unaware? I can’t quite figure out if I am happy or sad that I knew about it this time. It was earlier than we’d wanted Scarlett’s sibling, but we certainly do want them. We would’ve embraced the child and showered it with unconditional love.
Watching Scarlett play among her new birthday gifts in the backyard’s evening sun, I say a quiet thanks to the universe for the gift of motherhood. This is difficult and tricky emotionally, I’m hesitant to even call it loss as it was so very early. But having her makes it so much easier to cope with this. She is the purest joy that can make snarling menstrual cramps fade into the background. As the sun settles slowly into the horizon, I become aware of the shadow her small figure casts upon the grass. I think of the second line, appearing like a shadow. How it blossomed in a short window of time, like shadows that grow only in the evening, The fading sunlight allows shadows to elongate and come alive before reuniting with darkness. I know I will never forget this strange, short shadow of a pregnancy and what could’ve been.
