Meaningless Milestones

Over the past few months, my life has been a series of “one year ago today. . .” It never ceases to amaze me how much can change in the course of a year—how a life can go from hopeful anticipation to I’m-not-sure-how-to-go-on in just 12 months.

Right now, I’m remembering the first trimester mark. A year ago, it was a very big deal. Today, I recognize it for the meaningless milestone that it was. The statistics will tell you it’s a major one—if you’ve heard a heartbeat and made it past week 12, you have less than a 3% chance of losing your child. But who really knows whether they fall on the good or bad side of those odds?

One year ago this week, we moved into the 2^nd trimester. This was the time we started telling everyone the good news. We were still worried, of course—that’s what we do. We were worried that there would be something wrong with the baby—that we’d get bad news from our screens and anatomy checks. It never occurred to us to be worried that we’d lose her because we’d passed that magical milestone of the first trimester.

It’s hard for me to remember that happy time. Not in the sense that it’s difficult for me to think about, more that I can’t remember what it felt like. I cannot summon those happy memories in my brain—it’s like August 19^th erased them. I can remember telling people that we were expecting, and I can see their happy faces, excitement, and tears. But I can’t remember the excitement that I felt. I look back on that person (and let’s face it, that’s a different person than I am today) with a bit of pity—look at how excited she is, and she has no idea that the rug will be pulled out from under her in the cruelest way possible.

My husband and I did our reading and our research, and we knew the odds. We planned nothing until we moved into the 2^nd trimester. We knew that the risk of miscarriage in the 1^st trimester was high, especially considering my age. One year ago this week, we moved into planning mode. We discussed how we’d rearrange the house to accommodate a nursery. We tossed around names for boys and girls. We started picking out colors for the nursery and researching car seats, strollers, and cribs. This meaningless milestone pushed us to make plans that we’d never get to live out.

I have to admit, I hold my breath (figuratively, of course) when I hear that someone is pregnant. I see their excitement and hope. I even hear women talk about moving into the 2^nd trimester as being out of the “danger zone.” I know I felt that way once. I also know how foolish I feel now for thinking it then. I’ve come to recognize that pregnancy, all of pregnancy, is a miracle. It’s not just those first 12 weeks, it’s the entire 40. There are no guarantees in this life, and no assurance that passing some meaningless milestone means it’s smooth sailing for the rest of the time.

I don’t want this post to be about the boogie man—that you should always worry about what lurks behind the corner. It’s more that I want people to appreciate these miracles and recognize their good fortune in them. I’ve seen so many people take the end of the first trimester as a foregone conclusion that they’ll get to bring a baby home. Those last 28 weeks are just as much of a miracle as the first 12. Trust me, you don’t want to assume anything based on a meaningless milestone.