People. We are 10 weeks. Ten. TEN.
We have big appointments scheduled, like the nuchal translucency and the 12 week OB appointment. I had to add rows to my page where I hand drew a calendar, showing 3 months at once (which I made when we first got pregnant, so I could see how the weeks would progress.) Last week I actually ADDED ROWS to put in our 12 week OB appt. The balls right? To add weeks as if everything will be okay, as if we will safely enter a second trimester. It’s crazy talk.
I remember Bri going through this and I would think, of course everything is going to be okay — of course you are going to have a baby. From the outside it is always easy to be optimistic.
But I too am starting to believe this (this meaning a baby) will happen. This last ultrasound was incredibly helpful for both S and I. Yesterday I actually wanted to look at baby stuff online, which is a wonderful sign. And when I made baked potatoes for S last night, I cooked with happiness for my pregnant wife, rather than resentment for my shell-of-a-wife-who-might-be-having-a-baby. I felt like cleaning our house. I had some panicky thoughts about what it might be like to have a second child. Good signs indeed. Signs indicating that I am hopeful – not because I am forcing it, but because I just am. I still need a nickname for this baby. It is a baby. An actual fetus, as of today. Unfuckingbelieveable.