For this pregnancy, I'm on ultrasound number 2, at only 13 weeks. And I could have squeezed a third one in at 9-10 weeks, but I forgot to schedule it. Mommy brain! In fact, my mommy brain is so bad, TWICE now I've noticed my breasts looked a little larger, and hey, they have been a little extra sensitive lately... I wonder if I'm pregnant. Both times after my positive blood test (and first U/S!). Doh!
So far things are looking good. We might have a velamentous cord insertion, which can cause problems during labor, but will confirm at the 20w U/S, and presumably we'll get extra monitoring near the end to make sure the cord isn't in the wrong place, requiring a C-section. Other than that, baby is slightly larger (he put the due date at 3 days earlier, based on size. But we have a "hard" due-date of January 7. I call it a "hard due-date" because I know, almost to the minute, when the egg was fertilized... and I wasn't even in the room!)
The 12w U/S also found a "twin remnant" which makes me a little sad to think about. The first time, we inserted 3 embryos and only 1 "took." No mention of any remnants then. So I never really thought about the 2 embryos that failed. But this time, both of them implanted. But one just didn't make it. Since I'm still pregnant, I know it's not a whole lot like a miscarriage, and I won't have to labor this one out, just to add insult to injury. But I still feel a sense of loss that's hard for others to understand. I mean, I not only have a healthy 3-year-old, but I'm still pregnant, right? So what am I moping about?
What's hard for anyone who hasn't had a miscarriage before to understand is, that no matter how long you had that baby, even if the first you knew about even being pregnant was during the miscarriage, if you wanted a child at all, you still loved that little embryo. You loved the potential it had, the life it represented, the hopes you had for it. "At least you lost it early." Yeah. So you can't love someone you were only cognizant of for a brief time? 'Cuz losing an infant isn't as hard as losing your 30-year-old child, since you know, you didn't know the child that well yet. Granted, if I lost my daughter, I would be far more devastated than having a miscarriage at this point. But that's just because I do know her. I don't love my fetus any less than I did before. Just not as much as a live child. I would still sacrifice myself, and my unborn child, to save my daughter. But I would also deny my daughter things, like carrying her everywhere, to help keep me (and the baby) healthy.
Plus having her around would help me recover emotionally from a loss. It's hard to mope around when you have a little ball of sunshine singing cute songs and giving you hugs.
On a brighter note, we let her come to the ultrasound (all of them, actually. She came to all the ones checking out my ovaries to see if the cyst was shrinking, and the one to see how many babies were in there.) At the place I go to for my ultrasounds, the doctor does the ultrasounds himself, rather than having a technician do it and then him getting back to you with the results. So he's very strict about us needing to have all our attention focused on him, and no distractions. So at the first sign of talking, little kids have to go. So Nana, my mom, and his sister all came to watch, but also to take her out to the lobby if needed. I prepped her in advance, and told her that she couldn't even whisper, or she'd have to leave. I let her know to save her questions until the end. When we entered the room, I started reminding her of the rules... and she shushed me! "Shhhh! No talking Mommy! Quiet for the doctor!" ...Who hadn't even come in yet!
During the U/S, the moms all started gasping and oohing and whispering delighted comments to each other... all while being shushed by the otherwise silent-in-rapture three-year-old! She must have moved or something when he first put the conducting gel on my belly, since the doctor explained that he wasn't hurting me, and that the goo was to help see the baby. Other than that, he just gave us a running commentary on what he was seeing. He measured the neck thickness or something, to look for Downs Syndrome (it was good.) He kept saying that we had a healthy-looking baby. Days later, after I had loaded the photos onto my computer, Little Z came up and I showed one to her, and asked her what the picture was. She said, "That's a healthy-looking baby!"
I just love this doctor. He tells you all the positives (he works at a high-risk clinic, so he sees a lot of moms and babies with severe health issues,) and he also tells you all the negatives that he's ruled out. Stuff you weren't even worried about! Not only is the gel warm (ahhhh!) but he also has extra pillows, warm blankets, and he uses a warm, wet towel to wipe off the goo (When I get U/S's at other places, I never manage to get it all off, myself, and end up with goo on my clothes.)
And despite the potential complication he thinks we have, I walked [waddled] out of there feeling better than when I went in. He makes me feel like a good person for having a "normal" pregnancy. After feeling like a number at both the infertility clinics I went to, it's a nice, refreshing change to feel like a princess. Even my midwife/OB office doesn't make me feel like this is anything special. It doesn't feel as impersonal as the IF clinics, but I don't feel like part of the team. I feel like a client. That's why I request this guy for all my planned ultrasounds. After coughing up $10-15k to get a baby, I like feeling like a princess for a little while! I like feeling like someone with nothing emotionally invested in this actually cares. Obviously my friends care. And our families. But it's so nice to feel an emotional connection from a health-care provider. Since I really kind of am an important part of this team (you know, gestating, watching what I eat, pretending to think about getting some exercise, having nutrients sapped from my body for this little parasite; that kind of thing,) I like to feel like part of the team too!
I know that women get pregnant all the time. They see this all the time. But we should ALL be celebrated, even if it wasn't as hard a journey for some as for others. Pregnancy is so personal, so emotional. And trying to get pregnant can be so heartbreaking. Frustrating. Dehumanizing. And so much more. We're all special, even if I hate you just a little bit for being able to pop out babies like a Pez dispenser (if you so chose,) while I have to schedule, plan, inject, insert, and lay there with my feet in the stirrups and cold air blowing up my pooter on a weekly (or more frequent!) basis.
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