20 week ultrasound. Measuring overall a week ahead, and get this - poor thing has a midwestern midriff already!! Belly measuring a full 2 weeks ahead of gestational age. Too much candy from Mom? Gestational diabetes making for a fat and unhealthy baby? Nothing at all? Apparently the doctors aren’t worried (or there’s nothing to be done at this point if there were anything to worry about), so we’re just waiting, waiting, waiting for the next appointment, the next month, for 39 gestational weeks.
As far as the baby is concerned, all is apparently well. For which we are ever-grateful. The rest of the day...emotional. All my questions for the doctor that I’ve had in the darkness of my head became plainly irrational by the light of day, which was jarring and made me feel stupid but mostly highlighted how very scared I am. Suddenly I was conscious of the fact that I associate exercise with killing the baby (I was doing a yoga move when Anna first crashed that night at the hospital, had gone for a walk a week or two before and felt uncomfortable, so now...moving too much will of course wedge the baby(‘s cord) into my pelvic bones, killing it. Won’t it?). Of how I’m afraid hiccups that I haven’t yet even felt will be an indicator of cord trauma. Of how I haven’t remotely entertained the idea of going into labor, so fraught with potential hazards, so focused have I been on just getting far enough to have a C-section (and working on the PTSD of that scenario).
And, we found out gender, which has it’s own set of psychological accommodations, if you will. We’ll save that one for a later post. : -)
I had a counseling session that night where I lay all these things on the table including Saturday's elevator drama, and then a hurtful conversation revolving around Anna that night.... I was still raw all day Wednesday which led to the subject of another future post.
Whew! The 20 week ultrasound. Such a joyous thing that for most women. Such a mess for women whose unborn children died without reason (or, for heaven's sake, with reason), still in the womb, supposedly the safest place for them to be.