Knowing What to Expect

I made the appointment today for my 8 week ultrasound.

It's a big deal, because last time, I made the appointment one day, and everything started happening the next. It was like going to the doctor and making the appointment was a death sentence. We are pattern seeking animals, so whether or not it is rational, I waited until after the 6 week mark to make that appointment, just in case. There will be some relief once the doctor takes a look at everything and tells me it's fine, or it isn't. At least I'll know what to expect.

At least I'll know whether to share good news, or bad. Or will I?

Perhaps my perspective is different this time around. I just looked at someone else's blog and saw she just lost her baby at twelve weeks, right after she told everyone. It's even more sad because this comes after she had a stillbirth several years ago (which is what prompted her to start her blog) . She has two other healthy children, but still, she now mourns for two babies, not just one. So it begs the question: does it matter when you tell the world? Eight weeks? Twelve weeks? Fourteen weeks? There really isn't any safe time to tell people about pregnancy, is there?

I suppose I will wait until after the ultrasound, and then decide. If they say it's healthy and it's doing what it should be doing, then I will try to remain optimistic, and perhaps be a little more forthcoming about the upcoming event. If not, well, I've been down that road before, and I know what to do now.

What a strange feeling, knowing what to expect when tragedy strikes. I'm not certain if it's something I should be pleased about, but at least it's a comfort to know I have survived it once and can do so again.

I have been advised to pick up a copy of the 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' book, but I haven't yet, for fear that I won't need it. Not having read it, I do wonder if there is any part in it about loss, about grief, about how uncertain life can be, about what resources you can seek out if something goes horribly wrong. Because if there isn't, there should be. Women shouldn't be left on their own to wonder and weep and be forced to carry on as though they lost a goldfish or a pet rock.

Somehow, though, we have to manage. I braved a baby thrift store today to find a Bella band for my pants, since I am already having trouble closing them. Too much indulgence while on vacation, I guess, coupled with the same sort of bloating that happened last time at six weeks. Maybe the nausea will be a blessing in disguise so I don't outgrow all the new clothes I just bought to celebrate my weight loss.

But I digress. The end of this phase of 'not-knowing' is in sight. Twelve days until I get my turn. Twelve days, if this pregnancy makes it that far, and then the next evolution of the story begins.