And the Winner Is…

ME! And my husband. And our sea monkey who measures only a few millimeters long and yet somehow has a heartbeat of 115 bpm. I’m measuring only one day behind, which was expected because I think I ovulated later than the standard “day 14.”  But it really does look like I’ve won the pregnant girl lottery. I feel relatively great (if not unduly stressed out) and I got to see a heartbeat today. I don’t even know what to think of that, but my body has relaxed for the first time in days.

But as far as days go, I wouldn’t necessarily want to repeat this one. I have been a nervous wreck, despite my best efforts to be cool. After downing several bladders-full of water and twiddling my thumbs for an hour, we got to the waiting room at the women’s center. Some kid had crapped his pants, and my vomit-free record notwithstanding, it was a bit much even for me.  I remember thinking that if we didn’t see a heartbeat today, I would comfort myself by thinking of how no kid = never having to smell that wretched scent again. A small consolation.  Between the urgent need to pee, the smell of some anonymous kid’s crap, and feeling scared out of my mind that it would go wrong, it was easily the most uncomfortable I’ve been this entire pregnancy.

When husband and I finally got called back by the sonographer, she informed me that my bladder was measuring at an impressive 44 ounces. She also could tell me that I ovulated from my right side. I could have sworn it was my left, but she assured me without entirely giving anything away yet, that she knew it was my right side. Ok. So the abdominal scan didn’t reveal much except for the size of my bladder. It was time for the vaginal ultrasound.

She  let me pee, had me strip, and then probed me for thirty minutes with the dildo probe wand. The probing itself was only mildly uncomfortable. What was really uncomfortable was that she used her very captive audience to alternately rant about the recent election and talk about her teenager’s large feet. I’ve never been so bored in my life. But since his mission, DH can make small talk with a door. So she kept. on. talking. FINALLY, she acknowledged the lady under the sheet with a 7 inch Hitachi up her vag, and told me to hold my breath. “We have a little heartbeat!” She exclaimed. And all the terrible small talk was forgiven. She could have told me about her neo-nazi-knitting group for all I cared. We are actually going to have a baby.

She let us see the little sea monkey and his yolk sac, and the little sea monkey heart flickering away. It was all too brief, but incredibly exciting. Relieving. There are no guarantees, but seeing that heartbeat lowers our chance of miscarriage to about 5-10%.   We celebrated by getting leige waffles at Off the Waffle. Mine was the savory “BMB”–covered in bacon, basil, and havarti cheese with pure  maple syrup.  Husband’s was smooth–avocado, strawberries, black seeds, and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. It was called the “Just Trust Us.”

And just in case you were wondering, having your vagina probed for thirty minutes in a non-sexual way results in no small amount of pink, tissue-y discharge afterward. A fact I wish they had informed me of prior to freaking out. When will I ever get a breather?

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