Laughing with Sarah

Today is 13w2d. We got to my appointment early, which never happens. And they were running right on time, so before I knew it, they'd called my name and I went back to step on the giant hi-tech scale. It really looks far more like a treadmill than a scale, with hand rails and everything. On our way over to the clinic, I had mentioned to Matt that I was guessing a weight gain of five pounds. I've been weighing lower than I've expected throughout the first couple appointments, and over the last month I've been eating everything in sight, and I definitely feel bigger. But I stepped on the scale, and I measured EXACTLY the same weight as last month's appointment, down to the ounce. Dr. Locke even made mention of it when he first came into the exam room. He did the obligatory questioning of my eating habits, but really, I was as baffled as anybody about my lack of weight gain. I don't usually have problems gaining weight, just losing it. Anyway, they aren't

Here I go again, dumping my anxiety into a blog post the day before a next appointment. It's hard to believe that it's been four weeks since my last appointment. As is always the case, during the waiting, each of the last four weeks have crawled by at a snail's pace. I waited impatiently, counting each Sunday as it passed, watching myself creep from ten to eleven to twelve to thirteen weeks. But now that tomorrow is the next Big Day, it also feels like this last month has flown by. Let's start by saying that I hope beyond hope that there is still a heartbeat tomorrow. I don't have any particular reason to believe that there won't be, but in so many ways I am more fearful of a missed miscarriage than I've ever been fearful of a miscarriage that shows up with bleeding. I think it's a control thing. If I'm going to miscarry, I'd rather figure it out on my own, instead of having to wait for somebody else to discover it. I desperately want ther

Yesterday, I hit the 12 week mark. I'm still unsettled and cautious, and won't fully buy into the "I'm definitely pregnant" sentiment until after next week's appointment. I don't want to get too excited, because I'm still afraid that something bad has happened between my last appointment and now. But I'm also getting weary of being anxious all the time. I have more and more moments when I slip into thinking of myself as pregnant and treating myself that way; moments of truly believing that I'm pregnant without qualification. It's still a mixed bag, though. I have gotten used to the idea enough that I will be devastated if things go wrong. At the same time, I still absolutely positively cannot actually imagine having a baby at the end of this. I think that we've been trying so long that getting and staying pregnant is the goal...and I forget that pregnancies end with babies. And sometimes, like last night, I have my own personal littl

Not much has changed since my last post. Still feeling good, still feeling like myself, still fretting and hoping that all is still well. Well, one thing is different this morning. I'm a pretty even-keeled person, as things go. I can muster up righteous indignation and frustration when necessary, and don't mind doing so, but it is rare that even frustrating things affect my mood in a lasting way. I'm a pretty situational person, and so that means that my base state is generally happy, flexible, and unflappable. I got up this morning, after a good, solid eight hours of sleep, and I felt normal. I showered, got dressed, everything was fine, though everything I did this morning seemed to take twice as long. And I was a total klutz. Bashed both my knee and my ankle on the same piece of furniture, within minutes of each other, even though I've never tripped over that piece of furniture before. But all was well. Slow and klutzy, but still happy. I got to my office,

...good. Today I feel very good. Great, you might say. And in any other stage of my life, I'd totally appreciate it. But here's the thing. I am (supposedly) 11 weeks pregnant. Over the course of these 11 weeks, I've felt more tired than usual, and I'm a little annoyed by just how huge and unruly my boobs seem. But that's it. I haven't felt sick at all; an occasional over-active gag reflex, but nothing serious. No heartburn. No significant bloating or weight gain. In fact, today, I put on a dress that I bought for my seminary graduation, seven years ago. It fit me really well when I bought it. It fit me, but not as well, three years later when I wore it to Matt's law school graduation. I've kept it around because it looks decent, even if it doesn't fit like it used to. I put it on today, and it fit. Maybe not as well as the first time I wore it, but seriously, better than it has fit in years. Which probably just means I've lost a few pounds in