i ended the last blog post with this sentence:
"i am, however, open to the possibilities of tomorrow."
i can almost hear God giggling right now, because according to the crazy magical math of calculating these things, "tomorrow" is most likely when the baby i'm now carrying was conceived. (cue the divine BWAH-HAH-HAH!!!)
so yes, here i am at possibly eight weeks. i have spent most of them fluctuating between terror, numbness, actual joy, and cautious optimism (and not just as a throwaway media phrase). i didn't stop believing i was "just late again" until i was actually sitting in the lab with a phlebotomist sucking six gazillion vials of blood out of my arm. it took me another week to stop feeling falsely "meh" about it out of sheer emotional self-preservation. there are mornings when i wake up absolutely convinced that this poor child is already dead and i feel completely stranded in my own life. there are mornings when i wake up and i feel the aching weight of my growing breasts and embrace hope. i don't know what kind of morning it will be until i open my eyes. so i just roll with it, and try to pray, and mainly rely on sanity of the prayers of my faithful friends and family who have committed to being confident in faith for me. because remember how in that last post i also said "but i admit, here and now, although it is like another tiny death, that i do not still believe."? yeah, i'm still struggling to believe. and i know this is the reality of pregnancy after loss and infertility.
my first ultrasound was a few days ago, and it was a completely bizarre mixture of the first two pregnancies. my doctor found a tiny heartbeat right away, a flutter of light in a dark smudge on the screen. "look, here's the heartbeat!" she said, and it was like with Isabela, whose heartbeat was so crazyamazing in that moment...and then two weeks later, she was utterly vanished. my doctor's next words -- "but the pregnancy is small for how far you're supposed to be along" was like with Tim, whose heartbeat i never saw, and who, two weeks later, stopped growing entirely.
currently, there is no cause for concern, i am told; i'm simply coming back in two weeks to see if my now 8-week fetus is bigger than its current 6-week size. everything else looks fine, and i'm told this is pretty common, as those measurements can be arbitrary. but it's way too close to my last pregnancy's experience for me to be completely blithe about it.
posting here with the news is just one more way i am choosing to find the ray of sunshine that is hopefulness, and curl up in it like a wee kitten, soaking up as much as possible. i so badly want to talk about this pregnancy with excitement and joy, but i know that's unrealistic. if anything, i think i'm still astounded that i'm even pregnant again. as physically uncomfortable as it's getting, at least i know what to expect and i can be actually thankful about the middle-of-the-night potty trips or insane gas that makes my jeans not fit. yes, i know there's even more exciting Fun Body Weirdness to come! woo! and here's the thing: when informed about the nausea and backaches and unwanted body hair...and i know these are the mild ones...i only can think: i hope i make it that far this time. i hope my baby makes it that far this time.
i hope. i hope. i hope.
