In the heart of the uncertainty part. I know for sure I am carrying something around with me, a creature that makes it hard for me to go about my usual activities (taxing even outside of pregnancy, since they involve a 40 pound toddler) without hyperventilation or excessive hydration. But in this neutral zone after the first ultrasound (where there was no heart rhythm yet to hear) and the next appointment, two weeks from now, when I get the results of genetic tests and hear a heartbeat for the first time, it's much too easy to imagine the worst.
Even worse than imagining the worst, is how calmly and collectedly I am imagining it. It's not necessarily keeping me up at night. I imagine a series of phone calls I'd need to place and procedures to line up, if the worst is really the worst. What makes me cry is not that, but much simpler things - the notion of spending the week alone with my boy after enjoying a complete family unit for a three-day weekend. When I realized on Sunday night that our family unit, fat and happy after a holiday weekend of fun, sun, and food, was about to be torn asunder by the arrival of another work week, it was more than I could bear. Of course, I bore it. I guess I'm rehearsing bearing things. I woke up Monday morning with nothing but a feeling that I could bear it.
For now, in this strange limbo before my next appointment with the old doctor and then the first one with the new midwives, my proof positive that I'm working on a new person is an old craving. I made spaghetti with bechamel sauce for dinner tonight - something I haven't made since I was pregnant the first time around. Disgusting to look at, maybe it's even disgusting to eat, but it was incredibly satisfying.
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