Its crazy how much a couple blue lines on a little stick of plastic can change your life. I know, I know, cliche, right? And there are probably a dozen blogs out there that say the same thing. However, in this instance, I don't feel much desire to avoid the cliches, because for once, they feel very, very real to me.
I deliberately avoided posting again after Nov. 15th because emotions (especially mine) were running high, and what I thought we should do often changed faster than I could type out a full sentence. Plus, what they say about being pregnant rang particularly true for me, and all I have wanted to do for the last 6 weeks is sleep and sleep some more. Alas, those 6 weeks straddled final exams, a family reunion in Seattle, AND Christmas with all its gritty, hours-on-the-road-barely-awake travel time. I didn't have enough conscious time left to sort out my thoughts enough to write them down.
And to be perfectly honest, I wanted to be more than 12 weeks along before committing myself in this space, public as it is, to having a baby. I wanted to be undeniably, irrevocably past the abortion time limit. Its not like I bounced in and out of abortion clinics like a super undecided Ellen Page or anything. But I was scared, and unsure, especially in that first month. Plus, following the removal of the IUD, it looked bad for the embryo for a week or so, and prompted two more ultrasounds before I was given the all-clear. Much as I shuddered at the though of penning happy baby feelings, followed by a personal abortion story, I didn't want to be writing about a miscarriage either. But the baby made it, and has now graduated from embryo to fetus status, although in my head I only ever called it "baby". Taz calls it Bean.
Like a tearful Oscar holding actress, I would like to thank my mother, and father, for their undying support and love during the past few weeks. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't decided (for once) to turn to my mother for advice before anyone else. Far from the explosion of anger and disappointment and accusations I was expecting, I got compassion and support and sound advice. My dad is thrilled about being a "pop" and calls every few days to ask in a hesitant, and slightly embarrassed tone, how I am "holding up with everything". Its cute and awkward, and I love it. My little sister has taken to calling me "prego" and mocking me for how often I have to rush to the bathroom. (I officially cannot handle a 3 hour car trip, or sleep through an entire night without groggily feeling my way to the toilet at least once.)
And Taz and I? We have spent COUNTLESS hours now pouring through I'm Pregnant, The Canadian Version And The Mother of All Pregnancy Books, and talking about our recently radically altered plans. Even though this is a super big scary step in our lives, it is in a direction we both wanted all along. Just....about 6 years too early. But I'm a firm believer in things happening for a reason, and with all the obstacles facing that little embryo in its first weeks, and the teensy tiny chance it had of surviving, I like to think of it as my strong, fierce little odd-defier. Here for a reason. And I love her for it.
Yes, I said her. I'm firmly in the GIRL camp. Only about 6 weeks until we will know for sure!
And as for a weekly countdown of sorts, here is what is running through my mind as of today.
Return to school: 5 days
Blood and Serum tests (GOD, how I hate blood tests): 9 days
Physical with the new wonderful doctor, Dr. Kane: 3 weeks, 5 days
Well, I feel better for having finally started writing! One of my New Year's Resolutions is to post at least 4 times a week, so it should be much more regular and interesting from here on out!
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