I am 20 weeks and one day pregnant. Nothing is wrong. Dr. A is ready to do backflips over my top-of-range cervical length as of 11 days ago. Baby's anatomy scan is Tuesday, and we'll probably find growth still on track and most other things looking very normal. So here I am, still walking around like a healthy person unfollowed by clouds of impending doom just waiting to burst.
This time last year I was sitting around in the hospital. I think it was about this time that I went home for an hour before having to be readmitted to the hospital. It's the in-between time again of my sons' births, where I ate bacon sandwiches every day to fill the parts of me not already overstuffed with hope and despair.
This time last pregnancy I was lying in pretty much the same place I am now, with at least five pillows, trying not to sneeze. I'd been told by pretty much every doctor ever to wait for doom. Dr. P. told me to hope for something a little better. People were praying, and it was working. My pregnancy was getting unlikelier every day. By the end of things, the unlikely was overshadowed by the unheard of, the nearly impossible, the record-breaking, and what was probably actually impossible before it happened.
So it's strange and unknown to me to have a normal pregnancy. Well, mostly normal, if you forget the extra medical attention. And instead of praying for another day of pregnancy, I'm praying with good hopes for 20 more weeks. I bought a pink baby book that I promise myself I won't wind up hiding in a drawer somewhere. I worry about delivery positioning and whether my lady parts will turn into Upton Sinclair's The Jungle (don't overthink the reference). I plan on delivering a BIG baby, and holding her right away. I even wonder if I'll deliver late.
And while I remember this nausea, and most of these aches, and how my belly should expand, I know I never had these particular imaginings of my future before. There were early morning blood draws, more bacon than a hospital should allow any patient to eat, massaging leg cuffs, and wheelchair trips. Now there are outings that don't end in an ultrasound room, shopping trips on a whim, dinners with family, and plenty of swishes and kicks from a safe baby. No blood. No doom. Time to think about how painful this whole process is, and still be so glad.
Oh, and no bacon! Or at least not nearly as much. I think this whole limited-bacon situation may be contributing to the migraines. Today, that is my biggest worry.