Another Effing Pregnancy Announcement

God I hate these, please don't read if you also hate these

Art by Stephanie Davidson

I’ve been trying for months now to figure out how to tell you that I’m pregnant. For awhile I considered not saying it, ever—my negative feelings about online pregnancy announcements are that strong. But at some point in November, I’m going to stop being around Substack for awhile, and this new person will doubtlessly inform my life and writing in a way that will be hard to conceal in a highly personal newsletter. So let’s just get this over with. I’m due with my second child, a baby girl, at the end of November.

It’s hard to explain why sharing this good news would be hard rather than fun, why announcing this happy thing that I’ve wanted so much, and for which I’ve given so much physically and emotionally does feel not victorious and joyful. The first thing that comes to mind for me is the barrage of pregnancy and birth announcements that I’ve received over the last five years, often coming from people I barely know, hitting me at times when I didn’t expect them and reducing me to tears. These announcements have, many times over, ruined my day. I have screamed at my mail. I have screamed at my computer screen. I have screamed at a text on my phone. There are so many people experiencing infertility silently that it’s almost guaranteed that a pregnancy or birth announcement sent to a big list or posted online will have this effect on someone. This is a heavy thing to hold: that I am making a choice to ruin someone’s day.

Then there is the fact that the whole fucking nightmare of getting pregnant twice was a shitload of work, a lot of misery, and a massive burden on my body,(6 IUIs, 2 egg retrievals, 6 IVF embryo transfers, one miscarriage), and celebrating the end result feels exhausting, too. All of that lives in me, in altered hormone levels and depleted energy, in lingering regret and self-loathing and feeling less-than, in nightmares and fears, in the ongoing, low-level wishing that it had gone another way. An alternative medicine provider once told me that making a baby is as much about the biology as it is about “two souls meeting and joining.” Well, if that’s so, then I effectively circumvented the magic. In my case souls never met and joined, and it was all about the biology and furthermore the amount of money and time available to spend forcing that biology to happen. All I can think about now, as usual, are the many women who go through much more than I did and do not end up with two babies. See, this whole thing is haunting. I’d just rather not.

I say all this for two reasons. The first is to try and articulate the way that infertility can take up residence and stick with you long after the baby is made, if there ever is one. Listening to The Retrievals was powerful and difficult for so many reasons (oh god, I can’t even go there, but I do recommend it). What stuck with me most were the comments from the women who had experienced infertility about how very hard it is to describe the experience of going through IVF, during and after, and how the longing and the pain shapes you even after the child comes. It’s not intuitive why this would be the case; from the outside, it’s “over.” Things are good now. Sure, they are good, but also they are different, tinged. One woman I met who had two babies through surrogacy said that even ten years later, even loving her kids like she does, she still gets a twinge of anger when she receives a new pregnancy announcement. It might sound unreasonable, but it’s not. It’s the most common, the most normal, the most human reaction to that experience.

I also wanted to try my hand at doing a pregnancy announcement that feels like mine, even if it makes me cry (three times so far, to be exact). I never announced my first pregnancy or birth to any group, ever. Not via email, not via mail, not via group text. I have been so quiet about this current pregnancy that I recently spoke with a good friend in a different city who I hadn’t caught up with since before the summer, and she didn’t know I was expecting a baby in less than three months. There is something about this that also doesn’t feel right. If I don’t tell people, they can’t show joy. They can’t celebrate for me or with me, and this further solidifies my own inclination not to focus on the immense goodness here. This thing that I wanted more than anything else is happening. It’s wonderful. Letting myself feel that without all the other caveats is also important and, frankly, rare for me in this area of life.

If you’ve been with Inner Workings awhile, you know I love the topics that are complicated and messy. If nothing else, infertility has made me a better writer, like all the hard things do: I’m more nuanced, more empathetic, more full of feeling, more in tune with the fragility of human existence. I’m also a better parent: more patient, more inclined towards gratitude. I wouldn’t have wanted it to go this way, but infertility does bestow some gifts.

And, if this hasn’t been obvious so far, I am really, genuinely, so happy and excited to welcome this new person into our little family crew and into this complicated and beautiful world. (I mean, I would forgive anyone for reading this and being like, does she even want this child?!) I’m looking forward to a winter in newborn-land—that wholesale change of pace and priorities that takes you out of normal life in a challenging but magical way. I’m excited to see what life looks like on the other side, and what new things I’m thinking about as a result of this coming human. I’m excited to see what kind of person she is. I’m excited for what she’ll teach me.

And I’m excited to figure out maternity leave on Substack! I’ll be fully offline from the birth through February, and then we’ll see. During that time, I’m planning a publishing lineup of Inner Workings Greatest Hits along with some new stuff that I’m stockpiling ahead of time. I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas about how a Substack writer does maternity leave, and I’m curious if there are any good examples. Let me know!

This might go without saying, but I would also be so grateful if you stuck with me through this part of the ride. Inner Workings helps support my family and my sanity, and I love sharing this space with you. If you’re new here, stick around.