You know how they told you in Sex Ed that it only takes one time to get pregnant? You know how you really didn’t believe it back when you were 16? Well, in December I proved it to be true. Yes folks, I’m pregnant. Seven weeks and four days to be exact.
This morning we went to the doctor’s for the first visit. We saw the same doctor who dealt with us so graciously during the miscarriage. She very kindly cut to the chase and got the ultrasound machine. And then she quickly located the embryo and told us there was a heartbeat. And I started to cry. She told us it was a strong heartbeat and managed to give us some audio, which is unusual this early along. And I started to cry harder. She was very positive about the whole thing, which made me feel particularly good. It was all such a fucking relief.
I found out I was pregnant on December 16th. When we found out we didn’t feel happy, we just felt terrified. It was like if we didn’t let ourselves get excited we wouldn’t be heartbroken if I lost the baby. But of course we would have been. It’s been a rough month. During the miscarriage and its aftermath writing and then putting that writing out there helped me work through it more than anything else. Not having that outlet was bad enough, but I felt like a terrible liar every time I posted something that didn’t scream I’M PREGNANT right at the top. It’s part of the reason I didn’t post very frequently. And living life while worrying about miscarrying every moment was and is awful. Every single time I pee I am seized with terror; sure I’m going to see blood. At the same time I started to puke on the 26th, and have continued to do so every day or at least every other day. So I’m scared and I feel like shit emotionally and physically. I know I should be happy. And if this baby is born on or near August 28th I will be. But it just doesn’t feel safe yet.
It is still way too early to go public with the news, but if we lose the baby I will most certainly write about it. So what is the point of keeping the secret? And I’m hoping that writing about it will help quell the anxiety I’ve been experiencing. Yesterday, in anticipation of the appointment, I had an anxiety attack that was unusually in its severity and its length. It basically started in the morning and didn’t let up until today when we were in the car on the way to the appointment. I explained to the nurse that I’d been anxious when she was taking my blood pressure. Her eyes got really big when she looked at the machine to get the results. She said, “You are really anxious, aren’t you!” I said, “Yup.” And she advised me not to look at my numbers. Usually curiosity would have gotten the better of me, but I just didn’t want to make things worse, so I have no idea what it was. I do know high blood pressure isn’t ideal for a pregnancy, and since I can’t take my chill pills right now I need to figure another way to calm the fuck down. Posting here just might be it.
This is some kind of manual saw that was in the barn at Z’s grandparent’s home. As long as he weighs less than the machine it’s a pretty fun to watch him jump on it.
I don’t know what the deal is with his tongue. He really doesn’t want to keep it in his mouth.