What to Expect After Not Expecting…Oh! And Happy Mother's Day

Ten years. We had been trying for ten years. Ten years of being asked, “So when are y’all going to have a baby?” Ten years of playing aunt & uncle or godmother & godfather to the kids of our loved ones. Ten years of swallowing my own pain and disappointment in order to share in their joy. Ten years of pregnancy test after pregnancy test. Torture on torture. 

Ten years of feeling like an absolute failure.

Ten years of hope letting me down.

We had almost given up, but one of our good friends who happened to be a gynecologist convinced us to do our due diligence and find out the reason behind our struggles. We knew that if we were going to go through this process, it would have to be while we still lived in Czechia. There was no way we'd be able to afford these kinds of things once we moved back to The States.

We were scheduled for surgery the upcoming Monday morning to find out why I still wasn’t able to get pregnant after trying for so long. We were understandably nervous and trying to distract ourselves by spending a care-free Saturday at our favorite medieval festival right in the city center. The first weekend in September each year, Queen Eliska returns to her city, Hradec Kralove. It is always a spectacular event, and when we lived there, we looked forward to it every year.

We were already headed to the city center where the festivities were taking place when we received the call from our friend. Due to some circumstances that I will save you from having to know, he advised us to take a pregnancy test.

A pregnancy test? Really? This was supposed to be a care-free day! This was anything but care-free. I knew it would be devastating to me once again. I knew it would be negative just like the dozens of others I had taken over the years. But we needed to get things sorted so we put our care-free plans on pause, and we went to look for an open pharmacy so we could proceed with the necessary torture.

As expected, it was negative…or maybe there was a slight pink tint this time? Maybe we misread the instructions that were written in Czech or…could we possibly be pregnant? We decided that it had to be negative; there was no way!

We went on with our plans, trying to enjoy what was left of the day. The smell of molten metal from the blacksmithing tent mixed with the smells of fried potatoes and sausages. My ears were flooded with the sounds of the milling crowd, the beating of drums from the belly-dancing entertainers on stage, and babies crying…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I needed to take another test.

We decided to wait and try again the next morning. Sunday morning. Same result. A little pink line just visible enough to make us question our sanity.

A good friend of mine had volunteered to go with me to translate at the hospital on the day of the surgery. We were finalizing plans, and just to be sure, I decided to send her a picture of the test. She had more experience with Czech pregnancy tests so I was hoping she would be able to provide some insight.

I sent her the picture, and the way my heart leaped into my throat when I heard her say in her uniquely heavy accent, slowly and clearly, "Lauren, I think that I have to congratulate you. I think you are pregnant."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I didn't believe it. I COULDN'T believe it. 10 years! We had been trying for ten years. A whole decade. After so many years of negative tests, why now?

Robbie, my dear husband and partner who is typically the most level-headed person you can ever meet, was already glowing with excitement. And I was…I can’t even explain the emotions even after all this time. The best way I can think to describe it was disbelief mixed with a whole lot of trying to manage any hopeful emotions.

Balancing hope and expectation is quite a task.

Since we we weren’t 100% sure that we were pregnant, and waiting for another surgery date would take several months, we went to the hospital as planned the next morning. The nurse checking us in stood unsmiling and seemingly callous as my friend told her about our situation. Our friend spoke to the nurse in a language I couldn’t understand in that moment. I stood beside them silently, wringing my hands. After a moment or two, the nurse’s demeanor suddenly softened. The once stern-faced nurse turned to me, smiling with excitement, “Gratulujeme!” 

I was not ready for congratulations. I was not ready to celebrate. I needed answers. I needed to manage my hope. 

Eventually, after another waiting game, we confirmed that we were pregnant. 

My husband was elated, but I kept my hope at arm’s length, still not ready to trust it.

I thought, “I should be excited, but I can’t. I should be calling and telling everyone, but I’m scared. I should be celebrating, but I’m not sure I have the strength—what if something happens?”

I felt ashamed, ashamed that I couldn’t trust hope, that I lacked faith. I expected something bad to happen the entire time I was pregnant. No way this joy could finally be happening to me!

And yet, here she is, almost 5 years old this month. Born the same month as Mother’s Day in the U.S.

Mother’s Day, a holiday that still holds a weird tension for me. I spent so many years dreading this day. Year after year, I tried not to think about the pain of never experiencing motherhood, tried to focus on my loved ones who WERE mothers while I silently held my pain close to my heart and empty womb. It never failed to be one of the hardest days of the year for me.

And even now, with this tangible joy and beauty in front of me, it feels hard somehow. Why though?

Perhaps my difficulty with Mother’s Day stems from the feeling that I can never measure up to the expectations surrounding being a “good mom,” the expectations and rules that tell me how I should raise my child, how my child should behave, how I should behave, how I should think, and even how I should feel about being a mom.

Perhaps it’s because Mother’s Day reminds me that “I’m not appreciative enough of what I have.” After all that time of trying, shouldn’t I be more appreciative? Shouldn’t I be the best mother in the world? Shouldn’t I want to be with her all the time? Shouldn’t I enjoy every second of motherhood? Shouldn’t I be more grateful for getting to hold a child of my own in my arms? This is what I wanted after all!

Perhaps it’s because I still can’t quite understand how this all happened the way it did—finding out I was pregnant the day before having surgery after a decade of trying without success. We had prayed for a miracle. Was this my miracle? Do I even believe in miracles? Why did I get my miracle while others still wait?

Perhaps it’s because my body still holds grief and memories of the emotional pain of painting on a smile in order to celebrate my loved ones who were already blessed to be mothers.  

Or maybe it's because I know too many of you reading this that have felt or currently feel some kind of pain when it comes to Mother's Day. 

I see you. I see you grieving. I see your anger. I see your sadness. I see your conflicted joy and your complicated relationship with hope. I see you. 

If Mother’s Day doesn’t make you feel like celebrating, and you feel more like grieving and staying in bed all day instead, please know you’re not alone. If it’s a weird mix of all of these emotions, that’s okay, too.  

You are not alone.  

And if you’re feeling guilty for the way you’re feeling, know that there is no rule that says you have to feel a certain way about anything.

You’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel. Give yourself that permission. 

Whether it's a joyful or painful time for you, or both…I see you. 

To all of you, 

Happy Mother's Day.

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