Today I am six weeks one day pregnant.
This past weekend, I bought some stuff on Amazon. Like, pregnancy-related stuff. That prenatal yoga DVD I was agonizing over? Is on its way to my house. Same goes for a pregnancy journal, appropriately enough, titled “Embrace.” Because that’s what I’m trying to do. Embrace hope. Embrace possibility. Embrace the idea that, come April, we’ll no longer be a family of two.
As if trying to prove to myself just how much I believe in this pregnancy, I resurrected my Baby List registry. I started it back when Hubby and I first started seriously talking about pursuing fertility treatments for his condition but abandoned it sometime before starting this blog. Somehow not really believing that I would ever need a co-sleeper or swaddling blankets. Over the weekend, I started daydreaming again about all the cute things our little one will need and adding them to my list.
I’ve also been embracing my symptoms, such as they are. I don’t feel what I thought pregnancy would feel like. Which makes sense because I’ve never actually been pregnant before. But if I force myself to keep track, I’ve been getting up in the middle of the night to pee since before seeing those two pink lines. I’ve been constipated, bloated, and gassy, which I totally blamed on the PIO, but could very well be a real pregnancy symptom. Same goes for the suddenly ginormous boobs. I’ve also had a runny/stuffy nose and mild sore throat off and on, which isn’t unusual for me, so it may mean nothing. And since last Friday, I am utterly exhausted. All. the. time. I wake up even more tired than usual and can’t get through a single work day without yawning my way through every home visit. When I get home, I plant myself on the couch (occasionally actually falling asleep) and only get up to get ready for bed.
This isn’t to say that the fear doesn’t rear its ugly head, unexpectedly and often on the heels of congratulating myself for feeling so darn positive about everything. There are moments I’m sure tomorrow’s ultrasound will reveal an embryo that stopped developing ages ago, or one that’s still kickin’ but much too slowly, doomed to die. There are moments I’m certain we won’t see that little flicker of a heartbeat.
And then I talk myself down. I imagine one (or two!) perfectly developing embryo, making itself at home in my uterus, there for a good, long stay. I imagine myself buying maternity clothes to flatter, rather than hide, my growing belly. I imagine Hubby and I getting serious about names, even letting him talk me into finding out the sex of the baby.
That’s about as far as I can get. When I try to picture going into labor or holding a newborn, things get a bit fuzzy. But today, my fortune cookie read, “Your labors will bear many rewards.” So I’m holding onto that for the moment.