hello, baby

All right, I'm out of hiding. And first, let me say thank you, thank you, thank you to those of you who emailed me- wondering where I was, sending thoughts and prayers, making sure I was okay as the "kirbyman" post sat growing stale at the top of my blog. I appreciate it!

Explanation for the absence.....I AM PREGNANT. Just in case the above picture containing post was confusing to you, that is a baby, and it's in my uterus, kicking my ass. Feel free to scroll down and see the posts I wrote but didn't publish in the earliest days, too afraid to publish a thing and have to retract, but needing a place to release some of the anxiety. So far, so good. Not out of the 1st tri, not safe, but thriving and optimistic. As of today, 8 weeks 2 days. We had an ultrasound this morning. This morning was rough. I had my first OB appointment scheduled for today at 8:00am. J took the day off, and I spent the weekend in worry. Here we were again- week 8. If you've been paying attention, week 8 has not been a good one in the past. We've never had a heartbeat in week 8. I had some slight pain, although pain seems too strong a word- I had discomfort. Gas pains were a likely suspect, as were growing pains- each of the 25 pregnancy books I scoured for reassurance at Borders on Saturday said growing pains were to be expected starting about this time. But later, when darkness and paranoia set in, to Google I went. I don't suggest that the pregnant among us Google "cramps, pregnancy" unless you'd like to send yourself into a tear streaked tailspin. Which, naturally, I did. Then came this morning. I rose early, wanting to shower and look nice for my first real appointment. And there, in the bathroom, it happened- spotting. Not heavy, not dark....but it was there. Twice. I sat, frozen, numb. I actually said the words "there it is". I stared at the evidence, moved to the floor, and sat there staring at the wall. I woke J, and when I broke the news to him the confidence I seek from his eyes wasn't there. In its place was the look I imagine best described as 'deer in the headlights'. At a loss for words. I dressed quickly, nary a comb through the hair, and went downstairs to call mom. No confidence in that always reassuring voice either- rightfully so- we were all sure this was bad. (And later today, I found out mom started packing her suitcase and looking for flights to Austin after my call, and sent my brother off to school with a warning that she'd be halfway to Texas by the time he got home. How much do I love my mom for that kind of love?)

The doctors office, as always, was packed when we arrived. I pleaded with the receptionist to call a nurse to come and get us, and I must have looked desperate because the usually surly girl did as she was told. Anyway- to the point. The nurse assured me there were plenty of explanations, most harmless. The doctor came in moments later, full of his characteristic soft spoken cheer. Then he CONGRATULATED J. At this point I wondered if my doctor was a fruit loop. Or high. For real. I wondered if he was on pot, as seconds earlier we heard the nurse brief him the the hall, muffled by the traffic in the hallway and a heavy door ("something something two miscarriages something something extremely upset something something spotting something"). But he saunters in anyway, all country gentleman, happy as can be. I'm sure I looked puzzled at best, scornful at worst- didn't he know that SPOTTING IS ALWAYS BAD NO MATTER WHAT? If you're a confirmed neurotic freak, that is. Why take cues from the super experienced OB, when I've got my own pessimism and Google education backing up my fears? After the fastest pap smear in history, before J or I could even see a baby on the screen, he's telling us "here's the heartbeat, and a beautiful baby". WHAT? And there it was. Bigger than last week, the start of arms and legs, an umbilical cord, even a quick wiggle of movement. Heartbeat 169, on the higher end of the expected 120-170.

I was truthfully too busy sobbing to take in much after that. Thank GOD. Despite my struggles to remain faithful this year...seriously, thank you God. The doctor, again full of congratulatory smiles, assured us that this is as close to "out of the woods" as we'll get. 98%, he says. Statistics, still, are hard for me. I've heard statistics before, comforted myself with their enormosity...and they haven't been good to me. But I'm inclined to believe this doctor. He's a specialist. He's been in People magazine. He doesn't seem the type to go around spreading bullshit. He leaves the room and the beaming nurse sits down with her paperwork. They have to enjoy the scares that end happily. She explained each visit from here on out, testing we can choose to do, and which appointments were with the doctor and would likely be an hour or more delayed. She rolled her eyes while explaining everything related to pregnancy eating online was wrong, and to eat whatever I like- lunch meat won't be killing anyone. With a stern warning to "stay off the internet", they sent me on my way. (Blogs aren't "internet", right?)

For my own "emotional well being", they set me up with another scan on Thursday, and other the following Wednesday. The doctor was sure to say this was for mental health- reassuring because he likely felt they were medically unnecessary, but sad because I'm pretty sure I was awarded the "Crazy of the Morning" award today! Back in the car, we stared at each other, in disbelief. We'd exited that car an hour earlier, feeling like POWs marching to a certain death. And here we were, ultrasound photos in hand, still pregnant. Still pregnant!!

So there it is. Praying types, pray. Voo doo dancing types, dance. Or just send up a good thought that things continue so well (and if you want to add a word about NO MORE SCARY FREAKING SPOTTING feel free). Baby Cinco (Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro were already taken by the furry children) is alive and well and with any luck, a big believer in statistics.