I was waiting to see how long the blissful state of “completely happy pregnant woman” would last.
Apparently about sixteen hours.
Yesterday was a GOOD day.
Q. got home from work. I told him the news. He sat in a chair for a while to take it all in.
We decided to celebrate. We wanted to order in Indian from the restaurant down the road (as it is FREEZING here right now), but they weren’t open.
Even though it was freezing and E. hadn’t napped or had much of a quiet time, we bundled ourselves up, stuffed E. in the Ergo and headed off into the night. (E.: “Are you sure I can go outside? It’s very dark out there.”)
We went to an Italian restaurant we like. We ate pizza. E. ate pasta and bread. Lots of bread. We all shared a slice of chocolate cake. Q. had a beer. I did not.
Even though we knew it was early and we were being cautious, we talked about schedules, about plans, about vacations, about what we would do to cope if it turns out there are two of them. We wondered if E. would blow our cover if we kept talking about it in front of him, but then realized that toddlers say all sorts of crazy things that aren’t necessarily true.
After dinner we bundled ourselves up again and staggered home against the wind. I put E. to bed, we watched a random episode of Downton Abbey, and then we went upstairs and I did the Fragmin and Q. did the PIO injection and they weren’t meaningless, not anymore.
I fell asleep. And woke up early, as I am wont to do it seems. And lay there, in the darkness, listening to Q.’s regular, deep breathing, and feeling that heavy weight in my abdomen that made me wonder, all those days visiting, if I might be pregnant, because surely it couldn’t ALL be food related.
And right then, the anxiety started trying to creep back in.
“It’s so early,” it told me. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Your numbers will probably drop on Saturday. Even if they don’t, there probably won’t be a heartbeat at that first ultrasound. Or there will be something terribly wrong with the baby, just like what happened to your friend over the summer. Or it will be twins and you’ll lose them because you’ll birth them too early. Or they’ll survive but be so premature they’ll be damaged permanently. Or it’ll be a stillbirth. Or. Or. Or.”
“SHUT UP.” I said. “That was an amazing first beta. My body knows how to grow and birth a healthy baby. There is absolutely no reason why this shouldn’t work out.”
I shoved the thoughts aside, at least for now. But it just brought home to me that nothing ever comes easy for infertiles. It’s so very hard not to keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.