I Guess I Should Tell You…Pregnancy Brain is Real

For anyone who didn’t know, we’re having a boy.

And if you feel like you missed that detail, honestly, I don’t even know if you did.

I can barely remember what I’ve written lately, what I’ve shared, what I’ve hinted at, what I’ve said outright, and what is still sitting somewhere in my brain waiting to be turned into an article.

Pregnancy brain is real.

First trimester exhaustion is real.

Trying to write while raising a 17-month-old, growing another baby, keeping a household alive, worrying about money, and wondering if I should even keep paying for this Medium membership is also very real.

So here is the update.

We are having a boy.

I found out very early, mostly because my dates were a disaster from the beginning.

As some of you know, before getting pregnant, I took estradiol on my own. Not my finest moment. Not something I recommend. Not something I am proud of. But it happened. I was frustrated, desperate, and trying to work around a fertility clinic that accepted me as a patient but could not seem to actually make room for me when I needed care.

Because of that estrogen, my cycle became completely confusing. My body tried to ovulate multiple times, and I was tracking everything obsessively because that is what you do when you’ve spent years trying to understand a body that never seems to behave the way it is supposed to.

Then I got pregnant.

When I went in, the provider we met with, a PA instead of an attending, wanted to date me based on my last menstrual cycle. In a perfect, normal, textbook world, that might have made sense.

But nothing about my cycle was textbook.

My last period was June 1st, and after that, everything went sideways because of the estradiol. I knew I was not as far along as they thought. I could feel it. I had the tracking. I had the Oura Ring data. I had the ovulation strips. I had the timeline burned into my brain because, when you’ve lived through infertility, dates become almost sacred.

But medicine has protocols.

And because they thought I was further along, I ended up getting bloodwork done early. Somehow, there was still enough fetal DNA to run the screening, and that is how we found out the baby was low risk for the big things they screen for.

And that is also how we found out we are having a boy.

A boy.

I still feel strange typing that.

Not bad strange.

Just… unknown strange.

I know girls.

Or at least I know my daughter.

She is 17 months old today, and she is literally my little person. She is doing so well. She is hitting her milestones. She is curious and funny and dramatic and affectionate and stubborn in the way only a toddler can be stubborn. She has opinions now. Real ones. She has preferences. She has a little walk and a little attitude and this way of looking at me like she understands more than I think she does.

She is an angel.

And I know every mother says that about her child, but I mean it in the way only I can mean it about her.

She is my proof that life can surprise you.

She is my proof that after years of heartbreak, something beautiful can still happen.

She is the child I fought for without even knowing she would eventually come to me naturally.

And now I’m pregnant again.

With a boy.

I think I’m more anxious about the boy part than I expected to be.

Maybe because I do not know what to expect.

Maybe because with my daughter, I could picture the emotional terrain a little more clearly. I know what it feels like to be a girl. I know what I want to protect her from. I know what I want to teach her. I know the softness I want her to keep and the strength I want her to develop.

With a boy, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I don’t know how to map yet.

How do I raise a boy who is kind?

How do I raise a boy who is emotionally aware?

How do I raise a boy who is strong without being hardened?

How do I raise a boy who does not become entitled simply because the world sometimes teaches boys to take up space without questioning whether they should?

How do I raise a son who feels safe enough to be soft?

I know I’m probably overthinking it.

That is what I do.

But I also think the fact that I’m scared means I understand how important this is.

And while all of that is happening emotionally, the practical side of my brain is doing what it always does.

Calculating.

Money.

Time.

Help.

Work.

Bills.

Childcare.

Registry items.

Side gigs.

Future chaos.

I’ve been trying to make as much money as I can through side work, contracts, little opportunities, writing, anything that fits into the margins of motherhood and pregnancy. I’m trying to be realistic about what we need and what we don’t need.

Thankfully, because this is our second baby, we have a lot.

We saved a lot from our daughter.

But there are a few things we still need, and I wanted those things to be thoughtful.

Not excessive.

Not random.

Not piles of baby stuff we don’t actually need.

Just four things.

That’s it.

I updated the registry with four things I feel would really help us and hopefully last beyond just this baby. Things that feel like they could withstand more than one child. Things that make sense. Things that feel worth it.

And if anyone wants to contribute, I would be endlessly grateful.

Truly.

Nothing is expected.

But every single bit of support helps right now, especially as I’m trying to figure out how to bring a second child into a family that is already stretched thin.

And that brings me to another thing I’ve been thinking about.

Medium.

I honestly don’t know what to do.

I read a comment recently that basically said my writing has become so far and rare, and I felt that because it’s true.

I haven’t been writing the way I used to.

Not because I don’t want to.

But because life is just taking more out of me right now.

The first trimester destroyed me. My daughter needs me. The dogs need me. My marriage needs me. My body needs me. This pregnancy needs me. And then there is the reality that writing here does not really make me money.

I’ve said this before, but I make almost nothing on Medium.

It is mostly a place for me to vent.

A diary.

A record.

A place where I can say the things I probably wouldn’t say out loud in normal conversation.

A place where I’ve found community.

And that matters to me.

It really does.

But I also feel weird continuing to pay for something when I’m not sure how much I can show up here, especially when every dollar feels like it should have a purpose.

So I’m asking genuinely.

What do you think I should do?

Do I keep the premium account because this space matters?

Do I let it go for now and come back later?

Do I keep writing even if it’s inconsistent, because maybe inconsistent is better than disappearing?

I don’t know.

I would actually love feedback, because I feel like I’m in one of those seasons where every decision feels heavier than it should.

The only thing I know for sure is that I am grateful for anyone still reading.

If you cannot help financially, reading still helps.

Commenting helps.

Sharing helps.

Being here helps.

It all adds up in some way, shape, or form, even if I can’t always measure it clearly.

And I am forever grateful for that.

I am also painfully aware of how much harder life is going to get.

My husband is on his research year right now, and I cannot overstate how grateful I am for that timing.

He is home more.

He can help more.

He can be present in a way he simply could not be before.

And honestly, I do not know how I would be surviving this pregnancy without him here.

I don’t know how I would have gotten through the nausea, the exhaustion, the days where I could barely function, while also taking care of a toddler and two dogs.

His research year has felt like a gift.

A temporary one.

And that is what scares me.

Because after this year comes fifth year.

Then sixth.

Then seventh.

Then fellowship.

And I already told him we are going to have to take out a loan for extra help, because I will actually lose my mind if I am expected to do all of this alone with two children and two dogs while he is back in the thick of residency.

And I don’t mean that dramatically.

I mean that honestly.

I do not think it is healthy for me.

I do not think it is healthy for our daughter.

I do not think it will be healthy for this baby.

There comes a point where being “strong” is just another word for being unsupported.

And I am trying not to confuse the two anymore.

If we need help, we need help.

If we have to take out a loan and pay it back when he is an attending, then that may be what we have to do.

I know one day things will look different financially.

I know this residency season is not forever.

But that doesn’t make the current season less hard.

“One day” does not watch the kids.

“One day” does not walk the dogs.

“One day” does not make dinner when I’m nauseous.

“One day” does not keep me from spiraling when I am exhausted and touched out and trying to figure out how I’m supposed to do everything.

So that is where I am.

Fourteen weeks, going into fifteen.

Pregnant with a boy.

Terrified in a way I didn’t expect.

In love with my daughter in a way that still overwhelms me.

Grateful my husband is home more right now.

Afraid of what happens when he isn’t.

Trying to make money wherever I can.

Trying to decide whether this writing space is worth continuing to pay for.

Trying to build a tiny registry that feels thoughtful and not excessive.

Trying to prepare for a baby I am still scared to fully imagine, even though I already love him.

And trying, as always, to tell the truth here.

Even when the truth is messy.

Even when the truth is uncertain.

Even when the truth is simply this:

I am happy.

I am scared.

I am grateful.

I am overwhelmed.

And I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.

But I’m still here.

—

UPDATED BIO August 28, 2026:

Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.

In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.

Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.

If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.

💸 Donate here — Venmo

🍼 🍼New Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — we don’t need much but we wanted to focus on items that will get our baby thorugh the years.

— –

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.