Today, I am 20 weeks pregnant.
It's getting into this really, really, really scary zone.
I was 21.3 when my water broke around baby A (my daughter).
I think about a week before that, I saw a part of my mucous plug but had no idea what it was.
20 weeks is a milestone, though, right? At 20 weeks I can go straight to labor and delivery and bypass the emergency room if I have questions or if I'm scared or whatever, and I like that. I HATE the emergency room (and I know you all love it, right? I know I'm not alone here). I guess if something happened today, it would no longer be called a "miscarriage." I don't know if that's really important, but it seems significant to me, like I've passed some hurdle or something. (I am not at all trying to diminish the pain of a miscarriage-and honestly I think 20 weeks is kind of a joke for that "limit" but, -ugh, it's so hard to write anything without worrying that I'm hurting someone reading this-please ignore me if I am).
I've become sort of superstitious. I won't wear any clothes I wore when I was pregnant with the twins. All my maternity clothes are kept in a bin that I need only put the lid on and store away somewhere.
We have repainted our bedroom, moved the bed, and taken the clock off the wall (so I can never look up and see 9:40). We have new sheets and new blankets and new pillows. I won't use my $100 pregnancy pillow, no matter how badly my hips hurt.
I won't keep any to-do lists. Won't doodle this baby's name anywhere (although right now she is going by an acronym, ACC, for the 3 names we are still choosing between). Certainly I'm not signing up for any baby things or making any registries.
At school I have one week's worth of "emergency" lesson plans done. I've printed a list of my schedule, my students, how to log-in to all the important computer programs. I've contacted the nice woman who covered for me during last year's emergency, and she is "praying for me" but definitely on call should we need her again.
I've packed a bag. It has a camera, a baby blanket, some toiletries, a change of clothes, and important phone numbers and a calling card.
It's what I assume it's like to prepare for a hurricane. One that you know has an uncertain path-it could come right through your town, so you'd better be ready-but it could take a completely different path and miss you altogether.
I saw a psychologist who specializes in my kind of issues on Friday. She was very nice and I think she'll be helpful. She diagnosed me with ptsd, which I was not at all surprised about. She wants to see me very frequently over the next few weeks. At the end of the appointment, she asked, "What do you think you'll feel like once you get to 25, maybe 26 weeks?"
I didn't know what to say. I don't know. Grateful? Relieved? Still terrified? And how does she know I will get there?
I'm not sure I like being asked to speculate about this! It's like saying aloud to someone that I'm feeling rather good physically lately (KNOCK ON WOOD). I feel as though I'm going to get jinxed.
Crossing my fingers and toes and all the rest (my eyes, too, maybe?). Hunkering down for these next few weeks. Fighting the demons and hoping against hope that this baby can survive. That we might have a baby girl to bring home.
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