The same day I found out that I was pregnant, I called my doctor as soon as the office opened to schedule an appointment. Rookie move, I now know. I scheduled my appointment for the Friday of the following week, meaning that based on the date of my last period I would only be about six weeks along at the time that I went. I know now that it's really unnecessary to go that early...you're basically just wasting your co-payment money. Then again, it is good if it's the beginning of the year and you have a deductible to meet because DEAR LORD are those lab tests expensive. So you can work on getting that out of the way while you're still in that euphoric state where you aren't thinking about how expensive cribs and travel systems and diapers are.
My first appointment was a nightmare. Actually, let me change that. The first few weeks of this pregnancy were a nightmare. While I didn't feel any different physically, mentally I was a mess. I had made this deal with myself when Edgar and I first started trying to get pregnant that I was going to slow down and breathe. I wasn't going to let things get to me. I was going to be calm. I wasn't going to overreact and freak out and dwell on things that I had no control over. I really truly believe that high strung people have high strung babies. This may not be true for everyone, but I've definitely seen it in myself. I know a couple that are very chill, very go-with-the-flow, and guess what? Their son, who was born last year, is the same way. He doesn't cry that much, and when he does it's not that loud, and other than that he's just happy. Content. Loves his life. Then on the other hand I have a cousin who is so high strung you could pluck her and she would snap, and she's got four kids who were absolute TERRORS as children. I think that kids feed off of the cues that we give them, and I didn't want to give my baby those cues. I wanted him/her to be as healthy and as happy as possible. I'm no biologist, but I know that when you are stressed your body creates stress hormones, and since whatever is in my body is going to my baby as well, I didn't want to create that environment for him.
But I couldn't help it. I was scared. As soon as the shock and excitement of seeing that iffy pink line wore off I started filling up with all of these irrational first-time mother fears. My immediate pressing fear was that I was going to miscarry. Since I had been trying to get pregnant, I found out very early on about my pregnancy. Earlier than most women find out, earlier than the ones who aren't trying to get pregnant get over the denial to actually take a test--earlier than that point when your body or nature or whatever is may make that decision that the pregnancy isn't going to stick. Every time I went to the bathroom I steeled myself against it. Every time I felt a slight cramp I expected the worst. I became highly protective of my belly, afraid that if I even slightly bumped into a counter that I could hurt it.
Then came the appointment. I don't think, even if you aren't full of irrational fears, that the first appointment of a pregnancy can ever be very enjoyable. Because what they fail to show you on TV whenever some perky actress is pregnant is that they do not take the first ultrasound to date your pregnancy by a trans-abdominal ultrasound. Nope. Because new babies are teeny-tiny little things and are way to small to be picked up through the layers of your abdomen. Your first ultrasound is done trans-vaginally. Which means that you're naked from the waist down with an ultrasound wand stuck up your vajayjay that the doctor is turning every which way to get a good view of what's going on in your uterus. And you know how on TV the doctor always says "Ok, this might be a little bit cold" when they squeeze the ultrasound goop onto the perky actress's taut stomach? It's a hell of a lot colder when it's up inside your hoohah. So let's recap. Naked from the waist down. Ultrasound wand. Cold goop in the hoohah. UNPLEASANT.
The news from the ultrasound was terrifying as well for someone with the jitters. My doctor "would not commit" to saying that I was pregnant. She could see something on the ultrasound; something that showed that a pregnancy had started. She could see a sac. But she couldn't see anything in it. Rationally, it was just that it could have been way to early in the pregnancy to see anything. In my mind, I immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. She scheduled me for a follow-up appointment a week later.
When I got home I told Edgar what the doctor said. He of course, and thank God, told me that we had nothing to worry about, that it was just too early. He was a champ during that week, talking me up whenever he could tell that I was brooding over what had happened at the last appointment and what would happen at the next one. I know that my own attitude must have been scaring him (he's self proclaimed as knowing "absolutely nothing" about babies) but he knew I needed support and he was there for me and can I just say that I am so lucky to be going through this with him?
Edgar took the afternoon off of work to come to my appointment the next week and to hold my hand through the whole thing. I can't describe the wave of relief that swept over me as soon as the doctor turned the monitor towards us. The difference that one week made was unbelievable. Where there had been nothing the week before, there was this little itty bitty blob with a pulsating heartbeat in the center. That was our baby.
She dated the pregnancy at 6 weeks 5 days and gave a due date of October 11th. We're kind of hoping for one day early. How cool would it be to have a birthday of 10/10/10?
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