I had a visit with Little A this morning, which disturbed him greatly. He went from sleeping fetus to startled fetus, complete with hiccups and gesticulating hand motions, as in "buzz off, you." The bonus was the picture of his little face, complete with nose, eyes and mouth. Bliss, pure bliss. He continues to display his little protuberance, hence the many references to "he." No one is willing to check the "male" box in ink yet but they are willing to say they've never been wrong. Hmmm. Still don't have the official results from the NT Scan, quad screen, etc. yet, so I continue to feel the flutters of anxiety. My favorite nurse told me to get over it, I'll have those flutters for life now.
We still haven't shared the news with those other than some family and some close friends. Strangely, I really have no motivation to share our news with work or the world at large for that matter. I know they'll be happy for me, but I feel like the news will be incomplete, almost out of context somehow. Here, I've been working side by side, even traveling together in some cases with many of them and they don't know squat about the journey. It almost seems trivial to say "I'm pregnant," without also saying "we've been trying a long, long time, I've cried a thousand tears, I thought at many points my sense of self was in jeopardy, and you, coworker, bitched and moaned about trivial bullshit as I nodded my head and sympathized without hearing you, and then, on the Hail Mary pass, it happened, but not out of the blue mind you, but with lots and lots of science, and I'm scared to death that my hiccuping, gesticulating little apparently male fetus won't make it, so hell yes you should be happy for me because this is a flipping miracle."
I felt the same way when I got my ultrasound at the ob's office last week. Of course, I was just one of many, many pregnant women the ultrasound tech had seen that day, but I wanted her to know that this was different. Different I tell you. Special. I mentioned that this was my third IVF, fourth really. Did I mention that I'm 39 and this was my third IVF? That fetus you're wanding almost wasn't, but look, look, do you see how special, how amazing, how magical he is? No need to squint, it's there from the top of his too big head (lots of brain there) to his little kicking feet. See those fingers, linger a minute. Don't go so quickly. Really, when have you seen fingers like that on an almost wasn't to be fetus?
It's not that I want fawning and cries of joy and proclamations that my Little A is the second coming, it's that I can't get over the mystery and magic and wonder that my Little A is even growing and wiggling and hiccuping, here, in this place, at all. So I walk around with my little secret, my amazing Hail Mary pass.
The world just ain't ready yet.