I feel like I’ll remember this week as the one I spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. The spotting continues blithely on, and despite my best rationalizations, it’s so hard not to be concerned. It’s so early, you just never really know, for sure, that you’re still pregnant.
But I was spotting, and I had that ultrasound, and everything looked excellent. A visible heartbeat at 5w6d is a great thing. Everything measuring appropriately for gestational age. And the spotting hasn’t gotten worse, so I’ve maintained a positive outlook. I ordered a pregnancy calendar and a couple of maternity sweaters. And I eagerly await Friday’s follow-up ultrasound.
So it’s not like I am sitting around thinking the worst, but it’s more like, I don’t know, it wouldn’t surprise me? Devastate, but not surprise, despite all my optimism and excitement. I’m expecting to go in Friday and hear that everything looks great, but if I hear something else, I won’t be shocked.
Which is a weird place to be.
I’m afraid to open the box with the sweaters. Or write the dates into the calendar. I don’t want to do anything permanent.
And yet, I woke up this morning feeling so incredibly ill that I’m surely still pregnant. And perspective being what perspective is, my reaction, at feeling so terrible, was joy. Not to look at the calendar and figure out when it might end, but joy, and even relief. To feel about 2 seconds away from puking, I am happy and relieved.