Before my trip to the emergency room, I was having a lot of emotions about my surprise pregnancy. At the base, I was always happy. But piled on top of the happy was some disbelief, money and space worries, concern about The Kid's feelings and reactions, and maybe a little bit of mild panic.
But there was something else: the ever-present feeling that something was going to go wrong.
Because I didn't expect it to last, I didn't really feel pregnant. Or maybe I didn't allow myself to really feel pregnant. As I sat on that hospital bed in the ER, I half expected the doctor to return with the news that I was never even pregnant, and to congratulate me on starting my period. Even after a month of morning (all day) sickness, I still wasn't convinced it was really happening. And at that point it appeared that even if it had been happening, it was swiftly coming to an end.
But then came the ultrasound with its insistently clear flutter of a heartbeat. The Man gasped and I fought against the tears welling behind my lids. A baby. MY baby. In MY womb. Because who's pregnant?
Finally, I really believed.
The next two days were worrisome ones, with nothing to do but wait for a follow-up visit with my OB. The appointment was Tuesday. There was another ultrasound; another view of that stubborn little heartbeat; the kind face of an RN and her reassurance that everything looks perfect.
And now, I no longer feel like something's going to go wrong. It might, I suppose. I'm not out of the first trimester "danger zone" yet. But I'm no longer walking around with a constant tug of fear in my gut.
Now I feel happy, excited, and calm, despite the looming cash flow shortage and lack of an extra bedroom. We will find a way to make it work. And we will live happily ever after in the crowded home we've created.