Monday is the next doctor appointment for this baby. It’s not that long to wait, but feels interminable. I also kind of wish it wouldn’t come, because it could turn out badly. And once you know, you can’t unknow. I’m trying to be positive, but the pragmatic side of me is fully aware that thinking happy thoughts does not guarantee a happy outcome. I want to believe that come Monday, they will find the baby’s heartbeat, and it will still be strong.
I want to believe that in three weeks’ time, when we have the 12-week ultrasound, (ostensibly for the trisomy screening — but on the real I couldn’t care less whether the baby has Down’s Syndrome, I just want that baby boy or girl in my arms in March, and whatever comes with that we’ll tackle day by day) that the heartbeat will still be present and strong then as well, and I’ll be able to breathe just a little bit easier.
I want to believe these things, and I’m trying. Trying to go on the hope that everything will be fine. That we won’t lose this child. Like I’ve said before (I think), trying to make my hope bigger than my fear. I’m trying to let myself daydream about the baby, without cutting myself off for fear of a jinx. Trying to talk about the future with the baby as a fact instead of a possibility.
I’m still writing the baby notes. Telling it how big it is according to the pregnancy app I have that equates the size of the baby in utero with different produce items. Currently, it’s a cherry. Hubs says he wants to come up with a different app that compares the size to randomly occurring items: “On this day, baby is a big as a lug nut.” (Ha.) Writing to tell the baby more things that it will get to experience if it stays. Kind of like I’m bribing it, but honestly, I’m good with pretty much whatever gets March baby here and healthy.