This is long, this is unedited; it was written at about 1AM this morning. It's taken from the blog I created just for the baby so it goes back and forth between my internal thoughts and my mommy thoughts:

To say that I was not expecting what happened at the appointment is to not give what happened enough credit. Or something.

Your dad (ok, maybe some of this will be written to you) arrived while I was filling out paperwork. The same paperwork I fill out every time I go. I don't understand why I always have to fill out the same paperwork considering my insurance hasn't changed for five years, but what can you do?

He arrived, I filled out the paperwork, we watched Charmed and waited very patiently for our exciting appointment... the appointment when we were to first meet our little nugget of joy.

First up was the ultrasound tech (probably not the correct term). She came out and called my name and we followed her into a nice, serene room with a table and pillow (and stirrups), along with an ultrasound machine and big screen TV up on the wall. At first I didn't see the big TV and I asked if we'd be able to see what was going on and that's when she pointed it out. Yeah, your mom's not always the sharpest pencil in the pack. ;)

The tech tells me to undress from the waste down and hop on the table with the paper cover. I oblige and your daddy cracks some inappropriate joke because that's what he does (oh yes, little one, I'm sure you'll grow to be embarrassed by one or both of us in many numerous ways).

The tech comes back into the room and sticks something inside my vagina that will be able to see the uterus and you.

"This is your uterus," the tech says pointing with something on the computer to a big kidney bean shaped area on the screen.



"You're very early on in your pregnancy," she then said. "This blob," she continued, pointing with something on the computer to a 'blob' about the size of a quarter in comparison to the size of the kidney bean shaped uterus, "is the baby."

"So I am pregnant?" I asked excitedly, looking over at your daddy who looked up at the screen like a 5 year old looking on in amazement at a new discovery.

"Yes," she answered, "but you're very early on... maybe 5 weeks."

I didn't think much of it because I assumed she meant 5 gestational weeks which would be 7 weeks based on the start of my last period - according to *every single* book and website I've read.

"Do we get to see the heart beat?" I asked, anxious to see it pulsate and hear her tell me it's beating nice and strong.

"Oh no," she calmly replied. "It's way too early."

The screen then showed a line being drawn from one side of the blob to the other. "Yes you're measuring about 5 weeks and we can't see the heartbeat until about 6 weeks, 6 and a half weeks."

"Oh."

She completed the vaginal ultrasound and told me to get dressed and go sit back in the lobby and wait to be called again. We obliged.

Another episode of Charmed was on and we patiently waited, smiling. We saw our little blob and we couldn't be happier. What an exciting time!

After about 10 or 15 minutes, the door to the waiting room opened and a different nurse called my name. She asked how we were doing and took me to a scale. Yippee! (That's sarcasm, little one; you'll soon learn that your daddy and I are very sarcastic people but we'll do our best to ease off the sarcasm with you until you're old enough to start dishing it back, at least.)

Next we went into the room where the doctor would be seeing us and she asked a bunch of medical questions, chose a hospital to deliver at, filled out some paperwork, gave me some paperwork and the book What to Expect When You're Expecting (good thing I didn't already buy it). She then told me to undress completely and put the paper gown on - like every other appointment with the gynecologist.

And then we waited. And waited. We read all the paperwork she gave us and then some. Your dad looked on the internet with his phone and figured out that you won't be due until March 13th. We went back and forth about how far along I am with you as *everything* I've read puts me at 7 weeks, yet there was no heartbeat.

Finally after probably a 1/2 an hour, the doctor came in.

I've been seeing this doctor for several years and I keep going back because I really like him. He takes his time and really tries to make sure I'm clear on everything we talk about before ending the appointment.

But something about this visit threw my vibe about him off... he wasn't the same as he was in the past. He was acting like it was the first time examining me and while I understand he's got hundreds, if not thousands of patients, it was just odd.

"So there's a pink paper in here which means you're pregnant," he said.

"Yes," I say gleaming with joy.

"Have you been trying long?" he asks.

"Since January."

He then asks me about my last period - when it was, if it was normal, etc - then about when I found out I was pregnant. I told him about taking a test on July 3rd and he asked if the test came back positive or if I had to wait for hours. I told him it took a couple minutes. I then told him I also tested on the 4th and the tests were negative and that we went out and bought a digital, tested on the 5th and got the clear as day PREGNANT result.

"That helps me out a lot," he responds.

And that's pretty much when things changed. That's pretty much when my positive excitement turned into anything but. That's when he told me that they couldn't see a baby yet because it was "too early"; that I was four weeks, maybe early into my fifth week; that there's a sack there; that I am pregnant but that there are a possibility of four things happening (now I'm no doctor and am only paraphrasing what my mind computed):

I could have what is known as a missed abortion - called that because a baby never really forms but my body doesn't know it.
I could have an ectopic pregnancy - when the egg implants somewhere other than the uterine lining.
I could have a miscarriage.
I could have a healthy pregnancy.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Yay.

I lost it. As hard as I tried to stay cool and collected, I friggin lost everything I had inside of me and cried like I haven't cried in I don't know how long.

The doctor handed me some tissues. I looked at your daddy who looked on at the doctor like he was trying to absorb everything being said.

I continued to cry, trying not to. The tears just wouldn't stop. This wasn't happening. I wasn't losing this baby. This was not real. He was wrong. He was missing something. I was just too fat for them to read the ultrasound correctly.

"Now I know this is very emotional for you and I want to tell you something reassure you but I have to give you all of the information. I will tell you that there are plenty of patients who have an emotional reaction like this and end up having a fabulous pregnancy."

I nodded my head. I had to pull myself together. Everything was going to be fine. Everything was fine. He was just giving me options. Nothing in life is guaranteed.

"But I also have to tell you that some patients carry full term, but not everybody goes home with a baby - maybe 95%."

Ugh. I started crying again. Hysterically. And then pulled it together again.

He then told me the next steps - they would take my blood three times, every two days. If the HCG (or something) kept doubling, the baby would still be growing. If the progersterone (or something) levels were good, the baby would still be growing. If this all panned out, I could come back in week or two and get another ultrasound to see the heartbeat.

He gave me a pap exam and whatever they do and of course, your dad cracked some inappropriate joke about how what the doctor was doing didn't look comfortable to make me laugh.

Throughout the entire visit, the doctor asked if I had any questions and wanted to make sure we understood everything. I was pretty much in shock so really couldn't come up with any questions other than this gem: "So if something isn't right and the baby isn't growing, I could still have symptoms like with me breasts growing and stuff."

He, of course, nodded in agreement - and didn't look happy about it... like he knew more than he was telling me.

I got dressed and went to the lab for them to draw some blood, then over to the receptionist to make my appointment for Thursday.

We left. I cried some more.

Your dad has been wonderful and supportive and assures me everything is fine, we're just earlier than we thought.

The doctor wouldn't give me a due date.

I cried. And I finally was able to get out why the appointment was so hard on me to your dad... I wasn't expecting it to go down the way it did. I was truly expecting to see you, too see a heart beat. Of course, the doctor would've told me different scenarios, but he was also supposed to tell me that everything looked wonderful.

He told me everything but.

He didn't reassure me at all.

For all I know, he's letting me down easy.

Yes, I'm pregnant. But according to the doctor, there isn't a baby yet.

There isn't a baby? Wha?!?!?

How can I only be 4, maybe 5 weeks pregnant. Why the hell did the HPT come back positive less than two weeks after we conceived?!?!

It took about a half hour or so before we could drive away. I had my car and he had his and I just couldn't drive right away. I needed to get this all out of me before I drove for an hour home. And by the time we started the trek home, my spirits had lifted: I'm pregnant. I'm going to be a mom!

The whole drive home all I thought about was what happened. And then I compared it to mental notes of things I've read on that darn internet. And, by the time I got home, I was down again - thinking negatively.

What if the doctor is trying to tell me the baby stopped growing and that's why he says I'm only 4 weeks along? That's why they took blood - to check the hormone levels and *confirm* baby's still growing. I've read so many instances where people go in and get a read that they're not as far along, that the baby stopped growing. What if that's what was happening here?

I understand that I can't think like that. I understand I must stay positive. I understand I'm blessed to have at least gotten pregnant. Believe me - I fucking understand all of that. Completely and totally understand that. I'm not a 21 year old who got knocked up by her boyfriend whilst being drunk off my ass one night. No, that's not me. This is my time to do this, to become the mom I've needed to become for so long. This has to happen and it has to happen now.

So now I turn my thoughts back around and focus on the positive. I'm 4.5 weeks pregnant (again - haha). I'm going to be a mom. I'm pregnant and I'm going to have a baby and I'm going to be a mom!

I'm pregnant.

I'm going to have a baby.

I'm going to be a mom. Your mom.

I'm pregnant with you, my little angel.


Goodnight my little one.
XOXOX