This post is really late and I apologize. The truth is I’ve been spending most of my time feeling bad about craving pretty much only junk food and then eating it anyway, leading to me feeling worse. I ripped my slightly too-small lace underwear trying to pull them up really fast tonight.
Why, I can hear you not asking? Because Josh starting come downstairs as I was finishing up a 20-second pee with the downstairs bathroom door open, because HE WAS UPSTAIRS so I left the door open. We will never be the people who are OK with seeing each other use the bathroom. It mortifies me to even think about it. There is just something so vulnerable and weird about watching someone sitting on a toilet. But damn it, I didn’t feel like closing the door because again. He was upstairs.
That was not how I envisioned this entry beginning, yet here we are. HELLO. So I had my beta tests on May 28 and 30 and the results were fantastic — about 1,235 on the first go and 2,210 the second. They’re supposed to double every two to three days, so they looked great. My numbers around the same point in my first pregnancy were much, much lower, so seeing that gave me a lot of hope. In fact, at first I was worried the embryo split and I might be carrying multiples, but the nurse assured me that they were just strong numbers and not a red flag for twins.
I didn’t have any bleeding for the longest time save for a tiny spot that was likely from implantation until last Tuesday night, June 4. It wasn’t much — maybe like a light period, and very brief — but given my history, I contacted the doctor and he said I could come in the next day. So of course, we did. And…
The doctor said nothing looked worrisome and that the gestational sac was sitting in a really good place in my uterus, whatever that means. “I’d be worried if it was over here,” he said, pointing more toward the middle? I think? I don’t know, but I do know I don’t need to know what would be worrisome. Been there. Over it. But then again I ask a million questions, so he probably just assumed I would want to know. He’d usually be right.
He also wasn’t sure if that little mass inside the gestational sac was a yolk sac (which I think is usually more round) or a fetal pole/beginning of an embryo or what, but there was definitely something there. He had to poke around and zoom in and out a lot to find it, though, which worried and still worries me. Tomorrow we go in to try and see a heartbeat. I’ll be 6 weeks, 6 days, where I was 5 weeks, 5 days for this first ultrasound.
This is the point we got to last time, and I’d be lying if I said my nerves weren’t through the roof. The 7-week appointment is where my doctor didn’t see any growth or a heartbeat (I think it was 7 weeks, 3 days), and I can’t help feeling like this will be the same deal. It feels like a video game I’ve been playing for years that I threw the controller down on a specific level and didn’t have the balls to work to get to that level again until now. And there’s no saving, so if I fail, I have to start from the very beginning again (I’m looking at you, original Super Mario Bros.).
I don’t feel much different. Like I said earlier, I’m craving carbs a lot but that’s not new, and I think mentally I might just be using my pregnancy as an excuse to eat more of them. I feel kind of grossed out by the chicken I put in my daily lunch salads, but I’ve been eating it anyway and then regretting it right after. No real nausea or morning sickness yet. Just tired af, but that’s also nothing new.
Also been playing a good deal of The Sims 4 the past couple days. This little moment warmed my heart, aside from the fact that Sim!Josh was clearly thinking of the way to make the quickest exit possible.
Speaking of daughters, my mom keeps calling the baby by the name we have picked out for a girl. It’s very cute but I don’t know why she’s so confident it’s a girl. She says because Juneau women are strong and this baby made it, but I could make a case for Haupt men too (and women). My friend Katlyn says boy. I just want a healthy baby. And while my head says boy, every time I actually think of or talk to the baby, I picture a girl. Hormones. I tell ya.
Speaking of hormones, I started crying a little bit today when I looked at this balloon that has now been alive for almost a month — the balloon Josh brought home with him the night before our transfer to cheer me up because I was freaking out hardcore:
There’s so much symbolism it transported me back to Mrs. Carlin’s 11th grade English class during poetry month or whatever. That balloon is so deflated, which is how I feel right now. Completely off the wagon with my eating. Worried about whether we’re going to see a heartbeat and, despite the outcome, what it will mean for us.
Deflated from years of trying to conceive and now that we’ve done it (hopefully successfully), looking inside myself and being like, “Oh shit, what did we do? Are we even ready for this? Was it a sign from the universe that we aren’t supposed to be parents and now I’ve thrown off the balance?!”
But this balloon is still standing after 29 days, and I’m still standing after almost three years. Granted, it’s in bigger pants that will hopefully only get bigger (but not too much!) over the next eight months. But if this is it for us, I honestly wouldn’t change anything about how we got here. We’re nowhere near ready. But at the same time, we are.