Our journey into parenthood began a couple years ago with Four Little Words, “You’re f*#ng kidding me!” Now that we’re writing the sequel, there were actually zero words. Just shock. Open-mouthed, jaw dropping shock…for about a day and a half!
The day before my birthday Mumma approached me on the couch and said, “Hold your hands out…”. Slightly confused and a little disappointed that whatever was behind her back was neither the size nor shape of golf clubs, when she placed the stick with two lines in my hand…my mind got carted for a six!
Next thing I remember, it was Wednesday.
Wow, for those who don’t know our story, we tried for 10 years to get pregnant. Endured 9 failed attempts of IVF, quite a few miscarriages and even a visit to a witch doctor but still no dice. We both turned 40 and decided it wasn’t to be, so we decided to have holidays instead of kids. We packed up and moved to Bali for 5 months and fell pregnant naturally with our miracle boy, Indy Wayan, within the first month of living there. Now, he’s just turned 22 months old and is the joy of our lives.
Never ever in our wildest dreams did we ever expect to ever get pregnant again. EVER! It’s one of those things we always said, “if it happens, it happens”, and we always thought it would be lovely to have another kid, but we never truly actually believed it would (or even could), ever actually really happen. So yes, I was gobsmacked and totally paralysed internally.
Can we really do this? Is it real? Indy was such a great baby, what if this one’s the devil or worse, barracks for Collingwood? What if it’s a girl? I know nothing about girls, I’m 43 years old now and still don’t understand women fully. What if it’s another boy? I love Indy so much, can I actually even love another baby? I’m considering going back to uni in July. Can we even afford another baby? How will Mumma cope? How will I cope? How will Indy cope?
No wonder I couldn’t speak for a day and a half, my mind was spewing out so many concerns, challenges and scenarios that I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise anyway. So, I played my cards close to my chest and pretended to be coolly aloof about the whole thing…until today, when we had our 12 week scan.
Seeing the little bub flouncing about on a TV monitor through squinted eyes across a room (my fault for not wearing my glasses), I found myself as detached as I would be watching an episode of Master Chef, but when the ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom of the heartbeat thundered through the speakers, an audible squeak leapt from my throat. Which caught Mumma slightly off guard, and signalled in me the gravity of it all and suddenly seemed…very real.
And I got a little teary. Tears of joy, elation, love and expectation. I felt the bud of a seed of new love inside me that I never expected to feel and a newer, deeper appreciation and admiration for Mumma…layed out on a sheet of butchers paper like a rack of lamb, about to be wrapped and ready to go. We looked at each other and our mind’s melded the same synchronised thought…‘Can we take this butchers paper home for Indy to draw on?’
The scan indicated that everything seems normal. Hallelujah! We just needed to wait on the blood work and they’d ring through the results. That’s when the rug got pulled out from under us. Because of our elevated maturation (we’re in our 40’s), we’re in the ‘high risk category’ with only a one in 38 chance of things working out.
But another test tomorrow will give us a clearer indication of the likelihood of things working out or not.
It’s gonna be a long night…so hard to sleep when your mind is screaming at you.