The Story 'Til Now

Yes, I have been meaning to post for a while. I don't have survivor's guilt or anything (well, not much), and while the fatigue has been pretty bad, it's not keeping me flat on my back all day, so I guess I have no excuse. And now Thalia's gone and made me feel guilty about not posting.

We had another ultrasound at the fertility clinic at 8w6d (July 6), following which I graduated with little fanfare (just as I like it). The ultrasound tech was overbooked that morning, so Ezra and I waited for at least half an hour past our already-late (8:45 AM) appointment time. But it was all totally worth it to see those two little blobs with their tiny arms and tiny legs and tiny beating hearts (8w5d/169 bpm and 8w6d/161 bpm). Oh, and the second one bounced a little hello before the tech froze the frame for some measurements. So now of course I wonder whether they're head-butting each other in there. Through amniotic cushioning, of course.

Dr. Quixotic was booked up for the day, or perhaps not officially seeing patients (I don't recall), and when I called for the appointment (two weeks in advance!), Nurse Patient's schedule was pretty full as well. I wasn't slotted in to see her until 11:30, and since the ultrasound looked good Ezra and I decided that he should just go to work and I'd go to the appointment alone. He took me home, I ate a snack and packed my Food Survival Kit for work (I can't really call it lunch), and after killing some time doing nothing I headed back over to the clinic.

Where Nurse Patient was running late, but for good reason. I asked upon arriving how long I could expect to wait (not that I was in a rush, I just wanted to have an idea), and the receptionist replied that she couldn't speak to the nurse, but she expected it to be a while, because she was in with "another couple who didn't get news as good as yours today." It made me feel like a heel for even asking (though, truly, I wasn't in a rush - I just like information), and I certainly appreciated the time that she was taking. After all, it could have been me and Ezra in there. (And quite a few of my friends inside the computer have been in there, or rather in very similar appointments, and I would not begrudge them one second of their time.) So I read through an issue or two of Good Housekeeping and sipped my water and hunched over just in case the other people in the waiting room were playing "Pregnant or Just Fat?" (answer: a little of both). And with one thing and another, five years passed. (I expect someone to get that. Please.)

I saw Nurse Kid Gloves and Nurse Space Cadet on my way back, and both gushed again over my good fortune (we were out of sight - and I think out of earshot - of waiting patients) and remarked again on Glovely's lucky socks. I thanked them, told them that I genuinely hoped not to speak to them again for a while, and made my way down to Nurse Patient's office. Where, really, nothing remarkable happened. (All that buildup, you were expecting a bombshell or something?) She gave me 95-96% odds of the pregnancy succeeding (by which I think she meant "getting past the miscarriage danger zone" not "getting two full-term, vaginally-birthed, seven-pounders who start nursing before their placentas are out"). She followed that up by saying that she never gives out better odds, because nothing's 100%. Good enough for me. We arranged for records to be sent to "my" OB (whom I still haven't met), shook hands, and I was out the door. Heading back down the hall, I saw Dr. Q sitting at his desk (his door was open), so I rapped lightly on the doorframe, thanked him, and bade him farewell.

I really hope I'm not tempting fate.

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Here I am, ten days later. The embryonic stage is supposedly over. The kidlets are now officially fetuses, and supposedly have all their organs in more or less all the right places. I stopped my progesterone supplementation a few days ago, and have yet to notice any ill effects (that is, spotting or other impending miscarriage warning signs). Of course, Nurse Patient assured me that I wouldn't. The usual complement of early pregnancy symptoms have settled in for the long haul: fatigue, nausea, food aversions, some vomiting, mild backaches, moodiness, insomnia, headaches, and a total inability to focus on anything that's not related to my reproductive system. Or, as Ezra said when reading the relevant chapters of The Expectant Father: "Hey, they're describing you! Pre-pregnancy!"

Well, to be fair, I didn't really vomit pre-pregnancy. Unless I had a fever. Or when I was really drunk. I don't think either of those apply now.

I'm fully in my "fat clothes" at this point, which are those thiings I wore a year and a half to two years ago, when I was fifteen or twenty pounds heavier than I was early this spring. I'm nowhere near that weight now (I've gained maybe five pounds since early May, and that's only if I weigh myself with my clothes still on), but whatever I've gained has gone right to my chest and belly, and there seems to be a bit of bloating added in for good measure. My sister-in-law (about two months postpartum now) passed along some of her maternity pants, which would be great if she weren't half a foot taller than I am. Yes, I can ge things hemmed, but that requires being near a tailor during the business day, which I never am. I'll find the time somehow. I'll have to, because this belly isn't getting any smaller (we hope) and my selection of regular pants isn't getting any larger.

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Nuchal translucency scan and associated early risk assessment blood smear this Friday (11w on the dot). Then, finally, a real appointment with my mysterious OB the following Tuesday.