First ultrasound is on Monday, which I think will be 5w2d. MONDAY!!! Thank goodness, because I don't think I could take waiting another two weeks for more information. I'll get a third beta then, too. If all goes well I go in every week for the next few weeks.
"How are you doing?" the nurse asked me during the post-blood-draw consultation I had this morning.
"Okay. A little freaked out," I said.
She laughed a little. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
"Yeah, but now there's a whole new set of things to worry about," I replied. To which she could only agree.
The bloating continues to be a problem. I don't have a scale, so I can't weigh myself, but I've been measuring my girth several times a day, and generally I balloon 1.5-2.5 inches during the course of the day. (The bloat goes back down overnight, only to begin anew the next day.) Overall, I've gained three inches around my waist in the past week. My abdominal muscles are incredibly sore (from, I don't know...all the stretching?), so sudden movements are a bit painful. Dressing is a challenge, not just for comfort reasons, but because I would really prefer not to look gigantically pregnant right now. (Really, at my most bloated I look about as pregnant as my 20-weeks-pregnant coworker.) I spent about an hour on Sunday night trying on everything I own in a desperate attempt to find something that would disguise my belly. It's all about blazers and loose-fitting cardigans, I've discovered. The problem, though, is that things fit in the morning, but are straining at the seams by the end of my workday.
In the last few days, I've also become a little short of breath whenever I exert myself--being on my feet for more than ten minutes, for example, wipes me out, which is a problem considering I walk and take the subway everywhere. The nurse ordered me to keep drinking lots of fluids, and if at any point I stop peeing, or the shortness of breath worsens--basically, if I get any worse than I am today, in any way--I need to call them immediately and come in to have my abdomen tapped, to drain off some of the fluid. "If we're not open, you need to go to the emergency room," she said sternly. Yikes. Of course I don't want to get any more bloated, nor do I want to be sick, or have someone stick a giant needle in my belly...but there is something appealing about the idea of having all the bloat drained right out of me. I asked how long it would take for the bloating to go down, and she said, "Well, you're just waiting for the gonadotropins to clear out of your system, but of course now you're pregnant, and you have those pregnancy hormones, so you'll get pregnancy bloating from that."
Pregnant. I am pregnant. I don't think I'll ever get used to using that word.
My husband has been pretty adorable about this. On Sunday, when I got the call, I couldn't stop smiling when I got off the phone. He was, characteristically, quiet. "Aren't you excited?" I said, poking him in the arm. "I'm cautiously optimistic," he said. But later that afternoon, he roused me off the couch, where I was, uh, resting my eyes, to say, "Come on, let's take a picture."
"Now?" I whined. "I'm wearing my glasses, my hair's a mess, I just woke up, I look terrible."
He wanted to take a picture of us on the day we (officially) found out I was pregnant.
I hope, I hope, I hope...well, you know what I hope. It is so, so early, and there are so many things to worry about. I will try to remain calm until Monday.
Thank you so, so much for all the good wishes and congratulations over the last few days. Your support means everything to me.