We went to our first prenatal appointment yesterday. Okay, that’s not quite accurate. Yes, we technically entered the doctor’s office. Yes, it was baby-related. But really, all I did was say hello to a nurse, pee in a cup, have them admit I’m pregnant even though I already knew, and have them tell me to come back in six weeks. Six. Weeks. The fetus will go from the size of a blueberry to the size of a clementine in that time. I was under the impression I’d get a lot more involvement in between that amount of growth. But, for now, we wait.
My husband was so happy when I came out of the office and told him the pregnancy had been confirmed. It was as if he didn’t quite believe the first home pregnancy test, but he was sure of the facts of things now. I think being in a doctor’s waiting room really made the situation real to him. I’ve never seen him so happy. For the first time since I first told him he was going to be a father, happiness was not tempered by underlying panic or mental prep work. It was just joy. We went and got cider and doughnuts from a local orchard and he offered to get me anything I liked, take me anywhere I wanted, do anything I felt like for the rest of the day. Pregnancy exhaustion set in pretty early, so it wasn’t a long day out, but it was a celebratory hour or so.
A part of me is imagining all the things that could go wrong in six weeks, but I’m trying to quiet that part of me. Instead, I’m trying to listen to my body, find what the baby and I need, and wait patiently.
entwinedprecipice 