Monday, January 30, 2012

A form of torture?

Friends, let me start by saying that I am not known for my patience, nor am I good at just letting things happen and hoping for the best. "Everything happens for a reason"?? Blech. I think not. I am a planner, a details person, and a worrier by nature... though the latter did not manifest itself until recent years. I used to have the attitude that I could handle anything and roll with the punches and that everything would work out, but somewhere in my journey to adulthood (and actually having a lot to lose for the first time in my life), that all changed, resulting in the paranoid mess you see before you.

The fact that I have not had an ultrasound since "graduating" from the RE on 1/6 coupled with not being able to get an initial consult with the OB until 2/6 is just torturous for someone like me. I was doing well until yesterday, when I felt a little queasy, but otherwise, really good. Too good? I'm worrying about feeling TOO good... again? What is my problem?! Why can't I be happy that I'm not barfing constantly? Because that doesn't convince me that everything is ok in there. Neither do the 4 pounds of belly and boob that I've gained so far. Or being super hungry, even in the middle of the night. Or having to pee all-the-time. Or that my acupuncturist can detect a fetal heartbeat through my pulses. 

Sure, I could buy one of those at-home doppler machines off the internet for $50 plus shipping to give myself some reassurance, but I hesitate to make too many baby-related purchases before we can SEE that all is well. That, and it's difficult to find the heartbeat early on and I don't want to make myself crazier than I already am. We even postponed taking pictures for our big Facebook reveal (which, I promise, will not be obnoxious) because it seemed premature. Oh the insanity! 

Let's not forget the little fact that nothing has happened to make me think anything is wrong. I have not miscarried, therefore, I am still pregnant.

The only conclusion is that I am a lunatic. Please don't let me pass this on to my child. It's not fun to be your own worst enemy.

Thank you for listening. I will now go count down the days, hours, minutes...

(7 days, 2 hours, 12 minutes)

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