I have been living, for several weeks now, with the certainty that I was going to walk into my Doctor's appointment today and be told that this pregnancy was just my imagination. That this constant desire to toss my cookies, the sudden increase in the size of the girls (and yeah, great, as if they weren't already big enough to qualify for their own zip code. Move over Rhode Island, you have competition), my achy legs and serious aversion to any form of meat was all some very cruel mind game I'm playing with myself.
I think that may just be my way of protecting myself. When it comes to pregnancy, I'm always certain that I will fail.
It never works though. Because when it does fail, I am devastated. Crushed and afraid that this is how it will always be.
This time, after waiting 2 hours for my turn, I just knew that the nurse was going to shake her head and offer me the number to a really good psychiatrist.
There are no words to describe what it was like to hear that little thumpy-thumpy. A steady, strong heartbeat that was not mine but came from me. Because it meant that this is not all in my head. Because it meant that there really is a baby in there. Because it meant that I have reason to hope that this will work. Because of the 3 other pregnancies that had heartbeats, 2 resulted in some pretty adorable children.
Ultrasound to be scheduled tomorrow. Next appointment in 4 weeks.
Plenty of time to torture myself with all those lovely pessimistic thoughts.