The realization that you’re having a baby is like a gift you can open again and again. I’m super excited, but I know it’s still early and the chance for miscarriage is high. My IVF coordinator told me to tell my mom and leave it at that. Maybe it’s because I was raised Catholic and Catholics love to confess, or maybe it’s just because I am a natural-born blabbermouth, but I can’t help but let a series of cats out of bags right away. I tell my mom, my sisters, my co-workers, and our close friends in Richmond. My mom tells the rest of our family. She also, as it turns out, tells the cashier at the local thrift store, because when I go in there to purchase a punch bowl, she congratulates me. Matt, who has more self control than I, has only told his sister, Katelyn. No one else in his family knows we were doing IVF, so we have a chance to surprise them at Christmas.
This week is a tough one to get through. Our first ultrasound is next week, when we get to find out if we’ve got one or two embryos in there. (Of course, if you’ve read our first blog post, or the title of this blog, or you’re one of the people I’ve been blabbing to, you already know we end up with neither of the above.) I have no symptoms to focus on. No nausea or hypersensitive sense of smell or urge to go out in the yard and eat dirt. In fact, now that I’m done with fertility drugs, I’m even starting to slim down. The only thing I have is the knowledge that I’m pregnant, and the hope that this kid will go the distance.
In conclusion: Ugh, sigh, etc. Monday’s doctor’s appointment can’t come soon enough.