A day or so ago Keane asked me when I would go to the doctor again to find out "whether the baby was still alive."
AARGH. I guess we all learned together that the breathtaking fragility of the first trimester applies to EVERYONE. Me included.
So, yesterday, I went to the doctor. And sheesh. I guess once you've had a miscarriage, every doctor's visit is fraught with drama. While I suspected everything was fine, since I have continued to feel like a bloated, seasick beluga, when I climbed up on the ultrasound table, I was shaking. The doctor, sensing my distress, almost immediately said: "A lot of movement today..." Mensan that I am, I deduced that...movement means...alive! Movement means a heartbeat! And what a gorgeous heartbeat: 176 beats per minute. Woo hoo! I even got a lovely picture of the tadpole (which I will refrain from posting, because ultrasound pictures tend portray adorable little amphibian/aliens, rather repulsive to everyone except to the parents).
Of course by this time I was a sobbing mess, which I was a bit chagrined about, but I suppose OB's see a LOT of emotional, hormonal females. It's probably a worse gig than being a husband.
So now I will stop worrying about miscarriage for AT LEAST a day or so. Then, perhaps if all goes well, in a few weeks, I'll get to worry about the results of the nuchal translucency ultrasound! Down's syndrome and Trisomy 18! And then....maybe I'll get to worry about congenital heart defects! Or other more benign anatomical malformations, like cleft palates! And then: preeclampsia! Pre term labor!
Ah, to get to the point in my pregnancy where all I have to worry about is whether my baby is merely UGLY. That will be bliss.