The anomaly scan went great. We were the first appointment of the day and somehow I was early. The first patient in the office--this absolutely NEVER happens, let alone me being a whole 10 minutes early. But today we were there as the office was just getting rolling. Our tech was so friendly and lovely and had clearly reviewed my chart thoroughly. As she was getting started gave me a little rub on my back and said, "I can tell you're tense, let's get this started."
And everything, from brain to bladder, arms to legs, nostrils to toes, is there. And perfect. And working. Exhale. I actually started crying tears of relief, felt like a huge nerd, and could feel myself losing 100 pounds of tension.
That was the good news. And so far, really, there's no bad news. Everything looks, sounds, feels perfect. Well, everything except that damn cyst, who just keeps growing and growing on pace with this little boy. But we'll worry about that later--priorities.
Except there's one more teensy little thing I failed to mention in my post yesterday. Today is six months. Six months ago I delivered our baby girl, not breathing, heart not beating, silent. The absolutely most devastating day of my life. The worst day of my life. Six months ago today. And here we are today, half a year away, happy and relieved, celebrating the little boy living inside me.
What an effed up rollercoaster this is. Six months ago I, well, I don't know. All I could feel was sadness and pain and anger and confusion and fear. And they're all still there. But now mixed in is hope, and, well, a bit of joy. But man. Just half a year ago . . . in the midst of a freezing winter, and here we are in the midst of a blazing summer. Up and down. Hot and cold. Devastated and hopeful. How, again, is this my life?
I remember shortly after Calla died, reading millions of blog posts. One I came across was a woman who was writing about her baby who died six months earlier. And I thought, "Six months? However has she lasted so long?" I couldn't imagine going on for six more minutes. And yet here I am, and now she's approaching the one year mark. And still I think, "One year? How will I manage for a year?"
This little boy is here inside me, happily kicking away, mugging for the sonogram, trying to suck his thumb, stretching his already long limbs. Holy shit you have no idea how desperately I need him to make it.
Well actually, many of you, sadly, do know.