I felt fearful of losing another baby because I knew I was so close to breaking point. I felt fearful of causing pain to my parents again when they saw me hurting. I feared every day because I was convinced that it would be the day there would be no heartbeat and I would miscarry.

I felt guilt simply because I was pregnant. Because my close friend who was on the same infertility journey as me – her’s much longer and more painful – was still not pregnant. I felt guilty for possibly getting to take a baby home soon when what I’d been through was nowhere near as bad as what other women had endured.

I felt like a fraud because I had spoken publicly through my blog about not experiencing a happy ending. I’d been explicitly open about our fertility journey not ending with a baby and about how important it was to tell stories that simply ended – no rainbow or pretty bow around the package. Now here I was, maybe getting that rainbow, and that made me feel like a liar and like all my words prior were now insincere.

But I also felt hope. Not excited or even happy, but hopeful.

I said in my blog that ‘hope is a weed’, and many people interpreted that to be a bad thing, but it’s not. Hope is a weed because it creeps into the dark places. It’s resilient. Persistent. Oftentimes hope doesn’t take no for an answer, and despite attempts to kill it off hope will quietly, silently keep you alive.

Today I am 20.5 weeks pregnant.

There, I said it. And I’m so frightened, grateful and hopeful.

This article was republished with full permission from mamamia.com.au. You can read the original version, here.

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