And Then I Figured Out, "Holy Crap, I'm Pregnant?!"

(Warning in advance:  this mentions 'periods' . . . and not punctuation . . . um, if that somehow offends your sensibility, you should probably stop reading.  Probably this blog in general.  I also talk about potty training a lot, and trust me, that's about to ramp up again . . . )

In Disneyland, I felt a bit different.  "Hmmm," I thought when I started spotting, "maybe my periods are starting?"  Which was disappointing, since I didn't have such things start up again until my other babies were over a year old, and Isaac was only 10 months.  Must be the altitude change, I thought.  The whole week, I spotted.  I know I had the fleeting thought once or twice, "What if I'm pregnant."  But that was crazy talk.  I mean, dude, there's NO way.  Then after a few days of no more spotting, I thought my period was over, and we were driving home.  And I felt crappy.  And started spotting a lot more.  About half way through the drive, I turned to Greg and said, "I don't think this is a period . . . I think I'm pregnant.  And miscarrying."  Before I'd gotten pregnant with Isaac, the same thing had happened.  I'd gotten pregnant without having a period and while being on the pill, and I started spotting, thought it was a period, after a week it ramped up and I realized it was a pregnancy that was miscarrying.  This, I assumed, was the same thing.  I was kinda numb.  We pulled into the garage after our long drive, I ran straight upstairs, rummaged through my bathroom, found a pregnancy test and tested.  It turned positive in like 2 seconds flat.  I've never had one turn positive so fast (I've also always known I was pregnant before 4 weeks along, so those tests take longer to turn positive.)   I was definitely in shock.  I dragged Greg in and made him stare at it with me.  He'd just drove all day long, and was like, "OK, whatever," and went back in to get the kids ready for bed.   This was all on a Saturday.  On Monday, I called my midwives office, "Oh," they said, "Why don't you just take it easy for a few days, and call us if it gets worse . . . "  That seemed less helpful to me.  I called an OB's office where I'd gone before I started seeing my midwife, "Why don't you come in for a series of hcg bloodwork . . . we'll see if your numbers are going up or down?"  So, feeling pretty much my most self conscious, I dragged three screaming children to the hospital with me for blood work.  At the registration desk, Annie and Ellie are fighting, Isaac's shrieking in his car seat, and they ask me, "You're here for blood work, correct?'  "Yes."  "An hcg test," she asks as she stares at Isaac, "for pregnancy, I assume?"  "Um, yes."  While getting my insurance information copied and filed, "So, you're hear for a pregnancy test?"  "Uh huh."  "Wow, someone has their hands full!" as Ellie throws herself to the floor screaming, and I'm trying to nonchalantly shove Cheerios in hers and Isaac's mouths.  Then at the lab, "So, you're here for a pregnancy test, right?" the lady asked, as Isaac hollered at both of us and the girls kicked each other.  "Um, yeah." 




The next day, I called the OB's office.  The nurse couldn't come to the phone, but she wanted to discuss the results with me, so she'd have to call me back.  I waited, then finally got the call.  My hcg numbers were over 50,000.  To put that in perspective, my little sister had hers tested around 5 weeks along, and hers were 3500.  I was all, "Wow, that's high . . . so, do I come in tomorrow to get another test done?"  She laughed and said, "No, we don't retest when you're that high . . . we will just need to get you right in for an ultrasound to date this pregnancy!"  Then they scheduled my appointment and ultrasound for TWO WEEKS away.  I knew I didn't have the patience for that.  So, I called my midwives office again, this time telling them I already knew my hcg numbers, and they were all, "Oh wow, you're anywhere from 6-12 weeks along with numbers like that!  Let's guess on the low end and say you're seven weeks . . . then we'd want to see you around 11 weeks, and we'd want to get an ultrasound before 12, since they date better before 12, so why don't we have you come in, oh, three weeks from now."  Um, what?  Why is nobody understanding that (although I know it doesn't change anything) I'm going to have a freaking heart attack if someone doesn't tell me how far along I am?!  So I pushed back with, "Um, I really want to know when I'm due . . . please?"  She seemed surprised, and was all, "Oh, I guess you could come see her tomorrow then . . . she could check with the doppler and that should tell us how far along you are."  Um, I wasn't going to argue, 'cause I finally talked a provider into seeing me that next day, but dude . . . a doppler is NOT going to tell me how far along I am.  It will or will not tell me if they can pick up a heartbeat, which frankly tells us nothing more than the hcg test.  But, I was getting to see someone the next day, so I shut up.  I got in and saw my midwife.  Who laughed when she walked in the door.  "Didn't I just see you," she teased.  She didn't even try the doppler, 'cause as she put it, "It wouldn't tell us anything."  Right?!  That's what I said . . . well, thought to myself!  Then she said, "The very earliest you could be would be around 6 weeks, unless they're multiples," she teased again.  Not funny, dude.  :-)  "So, I wouldn't want to do the ultrasound 'til you're at least 7 weeks, so we'll wait a week and then do an ultrasound.  My heart sunk to the freaking floor.  I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW PREGNANT I AM.  We went out to make the appointment (you go to the OBs office for ultrasounds), and I mentioned that Thursday didn't work for me.  How about Wednesday?  Um, not so great.  She looked at me, smiled, and said, "Tell you what . . . how's Monday . . . "  I grinned, "Perfect."


Since hearing my hcg blood work results, that whole week was a combination of, "How cool would it be if I'm like 11 weeks along and just didn't know I was pregnant?!" and "Dang, what if I'm only like 5 weeks along with twins!?"  :-)  And, as the spotting spaced out even more, I was really realizing for the first time that 'this might really be happening . . . we're gonna have another baby.'

So, Monday I went in for an ultrasound.  The first thing I said after watching for about 10 seconds is, "There's only one in there, right?"  She laughed and said, "So far . . . but yeah, it looks like just one."  The ultrasound showed our baby to be 8 weeks along, (further than my lowest guess, and gut instinct, but not as far along as I'd been secretly hoping) with a heart rate of 170, a cool looking spinal cord and still kinda shaped like a bean.  And doing perfectly well.  Things sunk in.  And I was really happy.  If not still a bit mildly terrified.  I was pregnant less than a year ago, you know?  And my baby doesn't even have teeth yet . . . are you allowed to be pregnant if your baby still doesn't have teeth?  Or walk?  Or talk?  Or sleep through the freaking night? 

It'll be OK.  (That's my new mantra).  And the countless stories people have shared of their kids who are 13, 15, 16 or 17 months apart, help a lot.  :-)  
This is really happening . . . and I really think it's supposed to . . .