Before diving into this post, I do want to put a bit of a trigger warning. Miscarriage and loss is mentioned. If you are sensitive to this, and feel that this may not be the right post for you to read at this time, please don’t. Take care of yourself first. If you’re feeling lost, alone, or struggling with this experience - either yourself or with someone you know - I highly encourage you to reach out to a trusted friend and/or family member. I personally found this resource very helpful. All the love, ER.
Whelp. We’re pregnant.
The last four months have been a whirlwind.
Since finding out we were pregnant in August, it’s been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences.
I’ve always wanted to keep a pregnancy log—something to look back on years from now to reminisce and remember these moments. I wasn’t sure whether I’d do this virtually via Substack or stick to a written journal. It was only a few weeks ago that I decided to document it virtually.
Before diving into what the last 20 weeks have been like, I want to address the elephant in the room: why did I wait 20 weeks to start this?
There isn’t a simple answer—or maybe there is. The truth is, I buried my head in the sand for the first seven or eight weeks. This isn’t my first pregnancy, and even writing those words, let alone saying them aloud, isn’t easy.
I had a miscarriage. It happened. It was horrible, heartbreaking, and traumatic.
Because of that, I felt the need to pretend we weren’t pregnant. I had to push it to the back of my mind and not dwell on it.
Someday, I hope to delve deeper into that experience because it’s something we don’t talk about enough, and I feel deeply called to share. It’s such a lonely experience to endure.
But for now, it’s important to share this background because it shaped how I approached the early weeks of this pregnancy. For those first seven weeks—and honestly, the first three months—I kept my head firmly in the sand.
When I first saw those two little lines on the test, it wasn’t joy that overcame me. There was shock, for sure (I so expected it to be negative again). But the dominant emotion was fear.
Fear of what it meant, fear of the future, fear of having to endure a similar experience to May.
Even now, I still carry a lot of that fear. I think that’s more or less natural after going through something so painful.
During those first few months, I struggled deeply with anxiety and a feeling of isolation. I felt an intense pull to retreat inward. Socializing became draining, and I preferred to spend most of my time at home. I needed to protect myself.
Our first glimpse of hope came around eight weeks when a small scan at the midwife clinic confirmed that everything was progressing as it should. They found our little Sprout and showed us the heartbeat. That tiny moment of reassurance gave us so much relief and allowed us to start feeling a bit more secure—secure enough to share the news with a few close people.
Then, as if on cue, intense morning sickness (or, in my case, evening sickness) hit hard and lingered until early November. Food became a daily struggle. The nausea was brutal, and the food aversions were overwhelming. One evening, L made roasted potatoes, and the smell of garlic was so unbearable that I nearly lost it. Eggs became intolerable, and ground meat was off the table. Even now, I can’t look at pierogies and have a strong suspicion I may never eat them again.
Toast, apples, and Oh Henry bars became my survival foods.
The exhaustion was relentless. Most afternoons, I found myself napping—a rare thing for me since naps usually make me feel worse.
And then there were the hormones.
Everyone warns you about them, but you can’t truly understand until you’re in it. My anxiety skyrocketed to levels I hadn’t experienced in years. I was on edge, irritable, and snapping at things that would normally roll off my shoulders.
Finally, at our dating ultrasound, it felt like we were thrown a lifeline after months of treading water. That moment was a huge relief, offering the security we desperately needed and a glimmer of hope that things might get easier soon. Knowing there was light at the end of the tunnel—that I might start feeling better and more like myself—felt like a small but vital victory.
And now, here we are, over 20 weeks in.
We had our anatomy scan on December 24, and I’m happy to report that Sprout is looking great. There was a moment before the scan began when the technologist joked, “Baby is going to have to move, or this will be interesting.” After a quick trip to the bathroom and a lighthearted “shape up or no milkshake” pep talk with the bump, Sprout got A+’s across the board.
We’re still waiting to hear the results regarding gender, but our main focus was ensuring everything was progressing as it should. Thankfully, our fears and anxieties were eased.
Moving forward, I likely won’t write such detailed pregnancy logs—just little highlights I want to capture throughout this experience.
This journey has been anything but straightforward, but every little milestone brings a mix of gratitude, hope, and cautious optimism. I’m looking forward to cherishing these moments—big and small—as we continue down this road toward meeting our little Sprout.
Let’s play catchup
Click through for some memories we captured over the last few months:
