12:30pm – I’m nervous. I’m going for my ultrasound soon and I really have no idea what it’s going to show. I also have no idea how I’m going to react. For the past few days I’ve been feeling like maybe it was a bad decision to have another baby. I haven’t been coping well with the exhaustion and nausea, especially at work. I’ve been unsure of why I made this decision in the first place. Maybe this is the way it is supposed to be. However, when I pulled my doctor to the side of the hospital hallway this morning to tell her about what was happening and she showed me the slightest bit of sympathy, I had to fight back the tears. Yes, it is nerve wracking. If I really did doubt this pregnancy now, you’d think I would be less emotional about this all. I’m trying to remain ca and tell myself that, whatever the result, everything will ultimately be okay. I hope I right, either way.
1:45pm – I’m in the waiting room for the ultrasound. My bladder is very, very full. The nurse from my Dr office told me that if I drank enough water, they might not need to do an endovaginal scan. I wish she didn’t tell me that because I’m worried they will do it anyway and that extra time and waiting will just cause more stress and anxiety. Does I’m having a hard time with the idea that it might not be okay. I keep thinking that nothing’s wrong and all of this is just a huge precaution; maybe something that needs to happen to show me how much I really do want with baby. I am fully prepared for the results to be normal and to go back to work…
2:10pm – It’s all done. This time they put the image up on a big television screen in front of me while she scanned for the images. Very quickly she passed over my uterus and the embryo. Even though she went quicklu, I know what to look for and I thought I was the flickering heartbeat.
I was right. There is a heartbeat. Everything is okay for now. I feel a sense of relief.
I’m sorry, dear blogging friends, for posting such a mean prank post this morning. Please accept this picture of my fetal pole (the larger of the two blobs inside of the black) as my form of apology.
At some point this blob will begin to resemble a baby…
I’m on the train, heading to the airport at the end of my weekend trip. I didn’t have much time to myself on this trip, but I did manage a quick walk around the harbour to enjoy the scenery – especially the autum foliage. Oh how I love autumn!
For two days I’ve been helping to plan a conference that won’t be taking place until June. Nine months from now. Nine months. For the entire weekend (including when I passed up my favourite wine at dinner last night), I was acutely aware of where I’ll be in nine months. If I’m lucky, I’ll be back here in June, and with a baby on the outside. How hard to imagine!
How very much will be different after that time passes: there will no longer be red leaves at my feet and an entire little human being will exist who doesn’t exist now.
The next time I visit this city, whether it be nine months from now or later, I will be a mother of three.
(If everything goes the way it should)
Even though I’ve been through this twice before, I find it impossible to believe that there will likely be a full grown baby ready to pop right out of my belly. I thought about this in a more cerebral manner than I ever have as I held the perineum of a woman delivering her very own baby this morning. How is it, that in 8 months, everything so quickly transforms from a little pink line on a pregnancy test to a complete human being coming into the world?
The more important question is, “how will I (can anybody) be ready for this to happen!?”
Eight months is not a long time, yet it is the only time we get to prepare ourselves for the most life changing event ever. I know it will be enough time, but I can’t believe it: Even though the last two times, it was certainly enough.
What does seem like too much time though, is the time it takes to wait for a better confirmation of this pregnancy. Just this weekend we have had 3 ladies with ruptured ectopic pregnancies and it has been impossible for me to not think about that possibility for myself. Or the possibility that I could be one of the 30% of women who have a miscarriage, or something else that would make this pregnancy non-viable. It feel like forever.
Time is surreal and it makes no sense. Regardless, we are bound by time, whether we’re ready for it or not.