Um yeah, I would be posting more these days — if I weren’t comatose half the time during the day, suffering from insomnia most the night and/or strategically having to place my head over a toilet here and there throughout. Oh what this 7th week is doing to me! How will I ever handle being back at work next week?!
119 BPM
Thursday, August 7, 2008 at 7:15 am (Mom Quixote)
Tags: First Trimester, Pregnancy, Sonograms
We love our OB, and how could we not? Within minutes of general talk the man opened his mouth again and uttered the most wonderful words: “maybe we could do a sonogram today for you guys.” Cue the choir!
There was the sweet pea in all it 7 mm glory, with a healthy yolk sac to boot (that would be the big fat circle my husband partially mistook for an enormously large baby head. Alas, he was almost afraid to admit it, thinking I would freak out at our baby’s perfectly circular and disproportionate noggin’.)
For my part, I neither have ever been able to make out a darn thing in a sonogram. But what I can do is hear and did we ever hear the thump thump thumping of our nugget’s 119 beats per minute heart. Craig and I took one look at each other upon hearing that sound and knew our own hearts had just melted in response. It was, in short, a dream. And in six weeks, we’ll get to live the dream again.
Doctor, Doctor: Gimme the News
Monday, August 4, 2008 at 6:45 am (Mom Quixote)
Tags: First Trimester, Pregnancy
So we’ve (not-so) patiently waited these past weeks to get ourselves and our week 6 sweet pea in with the good doctor and today’s the day.
I’m not entirely sure why we feel so dependent on his saying so to finally let out a deep breath and admit that holy cow, we ARE pregnant. Maybe we just like the guy (we do). Maybe we just want to hear all’s okay. Really we’re looking for the man to take one peek inside and immediately declare, “yes ma’am,” “heck of a uterus!” This is the kind of official confirmation we’d like to get.
That and the ultrasound for which we’re prepared to plead. They could very well take pity on our previous miscarried selves. Or just as easily label us ultrasound whores. But who would not, I ask, beg to let them see the lubs and dubs of their child’s human heart? Keeping fingers crossed…
Mom Quixote 
