chanelling my obsessive and very sad energy into research has yeilded the following table:
fert.ility friend ——–2-4mm……………..4-5mm…………….14-20mm
preg journal** ——–7w1d (8-11mm ) 7w6d (11-14mm) 8w2d (10-13mm)
**The Preg.nancy Jour.nal, Revised edition, which counts things weirdly.
Truly this is a desperate attempt to make some sense out of something that makes no sense. Our baby is probably too small because it is not developing normally, because something is wrong with it. Probably. Most likely. I tell you this wait is 10,000 times longer than any TWW, and the realism v. hope battle is fierce.
I just want to be put into a coma and wake up on Friday, or not, if we are going to see a too small baby, or not see a heartbeat. Progesterone, which normally reassures a person is possibly giving some false hope, keeping a baby in S that needs to come out because it isn’t healthy. Here is my lengthy internal dialog, well, one of them:
“This baby might be ok. Maybe our doctor measured wrong because S might have a tipped uterus and the baby implanted very high up in the uterus. We saw a heartbeat. There is a lot of room for error in ultrasounds. Maybe she measured wrong. We saw a heartbeat. What if it catches up?
But. But. But. It looked too small even to us. Measuring 3-6mm at best. At almost 8 weeks! Our doctor hugged S. We watched her measurements and her technique and it was good. We trust her medical judgment. She talked about things like being grateful that we found out S can conceive. Fanfuckingtastic. I don’t think doctors give hugs and say such things to a pregnant woman if there is a good chance not to worry. This ultrasound machine measured S’s follicles just fine a few months ago. The baby is too small. Too. Small.”
After an evening with Dr. Google and some very realistic advice from you people, I am pretty sure this baby is doomed, and the thought of telling our son (who has taken to yelling “Mama is PREGNANT!”) that our baby is dead, is enough to make me cry all day and into my dreams all night.
Oh, and I am so fucking over the pregnancy tickers. Those bastards are coming DOWN.