Eleven

Eleven weeks today. Still here. Still so grateful, but still so scared and not ready to commit my heart to this being real. 
  
We had a good appointment on Wednesday. I had a different ultrasound tech, and I just really appreciated her. Both of them have been awesome about getting right to it and immediately telling us "there's a heartbeat," because until that point my eyes are clenched shut, my husband's hand is losing circulation and I'm pretty sure I stop breathing. As I allowed myself to look at the screen, I could see how much bigger (it? sorry, not ready for a nickname) had gotten, and was dancing and squirming around like crazy. I found myself almost sobbing, from relief and happiness and still that fear of it not being permanent. But also laughing, all of us - the doctor, the tech, my husband - at how much bouncing around there was, and how thrilled and incredulous we ALL were to be seeing what we were seeing.
  
As the tech made her way around, taking all her measurements and checking everything out, she talked us through it and after every statement she added "which is normal" or "which is great," leaving nothing to fester in our imagination. Example: "Here are the legs, they look like little frog legs at this point... which they're supposed to!" She just really got it that way. I even made a joke that she understood her clientele, and she said she's worked with my doctor (an RPL specialist) for a long time. 
  
She didn't tell me to stop crying. She didn't tell me to read some f***ing book. She didn't tell me to be anything other than I was. And on her way out, she said "Congratulations on today." One day at a time, one milestone at a time, and she seemed to get that was all we could hear.
  
Afterwards we waited longer than usual to meet with our doctor. Her nurse came out at one point to apologize and say that it was still going to be a while, that there'd been series of bad ultrasounds that morning which the doctor was having to take more time with. I know that place all too well, and my heart went out to whoever those couples were, getting the bad news that day. Made it pretty easy to be patient and wait at that point.
  
When we finally met with Dr. B., she was just so excited for us. She looked at us and said, "I think you're going to have a baby." She said that me and another patient are two of her hardest cases, and both of us ovulated on the exact same day and both are still progressing normally, that she might even write a paper about it. She also told us that we should tell the Sunshine Clinic our news, that they need to hear when their patients continue on to have success. I think she likes the idea of telling 'em to stick it. I'm not 100% full of praise for her, but she was the ONLY one who told us that we shouldn't give up, when that was the message we got from about everywhere else, especially once my FSH skyrocketed. 
  
And for the first time we started talking about next steps and planning into the future, which kind of made me want to hyperventilate. Basically we stay with her for the 1st trimester screening ultrasound and bloodwork (which we'll do on the 23rd), which I was really glad to hear that we'll be able to make it one more milestone before being cast off into the wild (assuming we make it... see, no confidence yet). We're then supposed to see our OB the following week at around 13-14 weeks. Which means, she was stern about, we need to decide NOW who we'll be seeing and get the first appointment lined up.
  
My husband was surprised that I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to our OB. He's been super kind to us, and knows our history. He's the one that immediately accommodated us when needing a D&C last spring and an HSG a few months ago, and he shed tears with me when I learned that MC#5 was genetically normal. But in retrospect I suspect that he hid from us when he saw that things weren't right at times -- to protect us from worry with good intentions I'm sure, but still plants seeds of doubt in my brain. I also feel over his head a bit -- he didn't know how to help us before, and kindly but still told me that he thought that we should give up last year -- will he be up to helping us through if something goes wrong from here? Do I need a high-risk specialist that will take every extra precaution instead? And there's also that whole thing that he and his office are associated in my mind with some really terrible memories, and maybe a fresh start is what I need. But if so - who the hell should I trust now? (Any recs from Chicago bloggies certainly welcome...)
  
So that's where we're at. I'm in a better place since Wednesday than I've been in a long time, and certainly since the start of this pregnancy, but I wouldn't call it a *great* place. Ever since the spotting I've been directed to mostly work from home, and I forgot to ask her about it this week but my husband thinks, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" so we are just staying the course until our next appt. Taking it easy, keeping off my feet, not lifting anything heavy, no exercise. Still in mostly social isolation, I can hardly stand to be around myself right now, let alone others, whether they know or not (both are tricky). All along I haven't had any symptoms except for sore boobs and gagging when I brush my teeth, same as with past pregnancies. I know I should be grateful to not battle nausea, but the reassurance would certainly be nice. I've had some weird appetite stuff - not having one, having a huge one, having a huge one but only for cheeseburgers - and I'm suddenly repulsed by broccoli, my long-time go-to super vegetable, but that's about it. 
  
Lastly, tomorrow is Mother's Day. I'm grateful that this day will be less painful this year than in the past few, but is still emotionally dicey territory. I'll be thinking of all of you, equally, whether it's spent nursing a broken heart or celebrating it's joy for the first time.