Well, I made it through week twelve. I thought clearing that hurdle would be my "all is well" marker, enabling me to relax and enjoy moving forward. Instead, I'm still speaking like having a baby in August is purely hypothetical: If everything works out...
Last night it came to me that I've been acting very impoverished, defining this pregnancy in terms of scarcity. I hear myself lamenting my lack of excitement; I want to be excited, but I don't feel like joyfulness is mine to claim in this situation. Then I had a vision of myself, eight months pregnant, sitting with Rob as we shared the silent realization, I guess this is really going to happen after all! Maybe we should get excited. The mental image was so completely ridiculous: "The Empress's New Maternity Clothes."
Pessimism won't make a bad outcome any easier to stomach, and distancing myself from what's happening just deprives me of the joy I'm craving. So my work this week is to approaching this pregnancy from a place of gratitude and abundance.
From the get-go, I've been trying to approach all of my unpleasant symptoms with at least a little thankfulness. This week, round ligament pain showed up. It feels like someone is pinching me from the inside. I'm also still spotting, which is not a good sign, but not necessarily a bad sign, either.
My next midwife appointment is in a couple weeks, and it cannot come soon enough! I actually miss my midwife between visits. When I see her, I turn into George Carlin's impression of a dog. She has a way of making me feel like everything is all right, regardless of what's going on. It also seems like ages since I first heard the baby's heartbeat—two and a half weeks ago. (Two weeks in pregnant-person time might as well be a month, and three weeks is eternity.) Hearing the heartbeat is magical. Rob suggested renting a Doppler, so I could listen whenever I wanted to, but that seems like enabling my paranoia.
I think about this baby all the time. I imagine the growing fetus dancing around in my uterus, but mostly I see her right at the moment of birth, a little blue in places but mostly pink and very sturdy looking.
We have begun using female pronouns exclusively when talking about this little one. Westley is absolutely certain that the baby is a girl. I thought he was having some sort of brother's intuition about it, but yesterday he explained that it's because there was "no fizz."
"We did that test with your pee and there was no fizz," he reminded me.
In addition to the red cabbage sex test, I also tried the baking soda sex test, which is not as pretty to photograph. Put a couple teaspoons of baking soda in a cup and pee into it. If the mixture fizzes, you're expecting a boy; no fizz, and it's a girl.
I explained to Westley that in a few weeks, the doctor was going to look inside me with the special baby camera again. Then we would know for sure.
But Westley insisted that we already know for sure. "There was no fizz!"