First post.

Here I am the night I learned I was pregnant, showing off one of two tests I took. Photo by J.

Last Sunday night (the 20th) I found out I was pregnant. J somehow knew before I did. He ordered pregnancy tests online (a three-pack), which his sister made fun of him for. I’ve taken pregnancy tests but never been pregnant before.

This is, of course, not long after the election of an overt white supremacist (Trump), and just three days earlier I’d also been shot with pepper balls, shocked by flash-bang grenades, and knocked around with batons while observing the forced evacuation of a No DAPL solidarity protest at 4:30 in the morning. This was not a great week for me.

I took the box of tests into the bathroom, peed in a cup, dipped one in and waited. It almost immediately read “pregnant” and I gasped, then started crying. All I could feel was fear. Fear for myself; for my dreams (of getting a Ph.D next year– that’s on hold for a bit longer); for bringing a baby into “hellworld,” as I called it on the phone to my sister later; of experiencing new kinds of misogyny; of the pain of pregnancy and birth; my body changing; being trapped by relationship damage in either direction (abortion or childbirth); being trapped in poverty; and a whole lot more.

J heard my gasp and ran in, excited. He was distressed by my intense, visceral reaction. He tried to hold me while I cried. I didn’t want to be touched. His excitement felt like an imposition.

I went and cried in the bedroom. Then went back to the bathroom and peed on another stick (glad for the bonus pack!). Still positive. Cried some more. Called my sister, at J’s suggestion, even though we’d fought earlier in the day. She was thrilled and tried to problem-solve with me, which made me angry and led to even harder sobbing. I continued crying, did a little hyperventilating. I had been eating lots of weed chocolate at night to manage my PTSD symptoms, and now I couldn’t have that. I’d been drinking and started smoking again, too, when Trump was elected, and had to give those up too. I kept repeating that I was afraid, not ready, and didn’t want to have a baby. Finally, J said that I should eat a weed chocolate just to calm down, that I obviously had to quit if we were going to keep it, but it was my choice and panic wasn’t good for me or the baby anyway. So I ate some, and couldn’t sleep that night, and couldn’t sleep the next night (but didn’t eat any), and couldn’t sleep the night after that, and then I learned I could take Sominex while pregnant and that solved that problem.

It took a lot of conversations– with my closest friends and coworkers (luckily I work with some amazing feminist & pro-choice community organizers), as well as some budgeting and bill-paying with J’s help, for me to calm down. Two things, in particular, helped me.

First, my dear friend and former doula KM told me that survivors of abuse often are triggered by pregnancy and childbirth. Hearing myself say that I felt “out of control of my body” helped me realize what was going on, where the depth of my fear was coming from. That was extremely grounding. It was also really helpful to hear that she thought I should have a baby, even at this shitty, shitty time in the world. This was followed by another conversation with J, where he reiterated that the pregnancy was my choice. I expressed my fear around deciding on an abortion causing relationship damage, and he said he’d be disappointed (not in me, but at the loss of this chance for a baby) but would be there for me. Getting a more solid grip on a sense of control and choice helped *a LOT*.

Second, another friend (KR), told me a story of her nephew’s birth. It included shit, blood, and a miracle. I thought about the Christian patriarchal and colonial hatred of body and earth, the idea that bodies are inherently sinful, and began to truly and deeply love the idea of a miracle that is also covered in blood and shit. It is such a deep, deep challenge to patriarchy, especially if I choose to work with a midwife and listen to my body through this process.

I decided around five days later to keep the baby. This baby doesn’t have to be a death sentence. They can be a light in the dark. I am lucky to have a caring, tender husband who looks out for me and will be equally, if not *more* invested in caring for them. We will be okay financially. His business is doing well and he’ll be getting a significant pay raise; if he had to leave the coop, he’d make nearly twice as much. I am also expecting a pay raise, as well as more hours, within the year, and when some of my debt is paid off (which it will be by the time the baby’s born), I’ll have around a third of my income back.

This year has been overwhelming and chaotic. We were married, went into debt for the wedding & receptions; I wrote my master’s thesis; we graduated (J with his B.A. and me with my M.E.S.); and now we’re having a baby. This is just our little life; then there’s the bigger world of organizing for social and environmental justice, and against white supremacist state power. It’s a frightening time to consider raising a child. But maybe it is the best time. Either way, it’s an invitation to step into my own power, to deepen our commitment to one another (after nearly 7 years), to experience love in a new way. J bought me prenatal vitamins, brings me lunch on his lunch breaks if I forget (I typically don’t eat lunch), and is generally a caring and wonderful husband.

I’m still going to take hot baths. Not scalding hot, but hot enough to relax my mind, warm my bones, and sooth my aching body. The constant nausea feels like a mild flu, which is likely to last through the end of the first trimester at least.