Let there be Life!

We heard a heartbeat. A beautiful, life-sustaining heartbeat. A 125 beats per minute heartbeat.

It was a moment that was everything at once: beautiful, terrifying, hopeful, devastating, inspirational, and humbling. And, in keeping with Piccolino's style, it followed some drama.

I have long contended that mothers, at some point in their past, were well-adjusted women. Something about the process of becoming or being a mother caused them to abandon all previous coping skills and respond to a case of sniffles with a level of alarm that warranted a red phone connection to Russia circa 1986. Now, I have empirical evidence to support my hypothesis: I WAS A NUT JOB YESTERDAY.

I initially balked at having to wait until Tuesday to see the doctor again. I almost tried to get myself penciled in last Friday. I AM SO THANKFUL I DID NOT DO THAT!

Monday night I began noticing some spotting. Not too much - just enough to worry a girl. Now, traditional Victoria would have said: "hmm... there is a symptom that I am not too thrilled about. However, I have a doctor's appointment at 1:30 pm tomorrow and, as the symptom is not dire and not accompanied by any other negative symptomology, I can wait until then to further discuss this issue with the doctor." I am no longer traditional Victoria. I am gestating Victoria.

Gestating Victoria scoured the internet, gathering any tiny information about the spotting, fixating on the negative, worrying about the possibilities. Gestating Victoria called her mother repeatedly worrying about the possible outcomes to her daily coffee intake, chronicling the dangers of cold cuts, soft cheeses, and folic acid deficits. Gestating Victoria was inconsolable and terrified. And about to pick up that red phone.

The anxiety built to a nearly crippling point. It was at that point Dr. Haakenson came into the room and showed us our baby's heartbeat. The sound was an anti-inflammatory, an anxiety reducer, and inspiration. It was also the newest indication that this was, in fact, a true-to-life child. One that will one day raise his or her arms to me. One that will look to me for nutrients and sustenance. One that will need help with Algebra (and look to Nathaniel). One that will need money for college. One that will, invariably, disappoint me. One that will, invariably, make me prouder than I can imagine at this moment.

Hearing that heartbeat caused self doubt to echo through the chambers of my heart, as well as hope to resonate through my spirit. I am not really sure how I am going to do this. I am not sure how Nathaniel is going to do this. But, 125 beats per minute says it is happening, and faster than I could have ever imagined.The top picture includes the visual of the heartbeat. (If you look close enough, you can see that my last name is spelled "Petro-Escher." Apparently, I married a descendant of M.C. Escher - the guy who drew stairs going to nowhere and other optical illusions.) The bottom picture is a magnification of the baby. The dark spot is the baby's sac. The white in the middle of it is the baby and the yolk sac. The baby is now the size of a lentil bean - which does not explain why I'm retaining so much weight! According to the dates we're using with the doctor, I am due April 12. According to how we're measuring, I am due April 15. Nathaniel's birthday is April 14. We're going to have to throw his 35th birthday party a little early if we plan on getting one in!

In any case, there is life - and it is healthy, sustainable, and right on track!

Along came Piccolino...

I have never been the bikini-wearing type. Shortly after my 2 year old body donned a 2T bathing suit, it became apparent that my Italian, mountain-dwelling DNA gave me a more substantive than graceful form. While high school was not much fun thanks to the snide remarks of the long-legged wonders who chose between the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-yellow-polka-dot or pink-polka-dot bikinis, the benefit of age has changed my perspective on my more ample form. Instead of loathing the physicality that denoted my failure to conform to white suburbia, I began to see my body as a link to the wonderful, strong women of my past. Women whose spirit and vision lead them to leave their homes in far countries and risk everything to come to a new country. Women whose lineage would culminate (for now) in my existence, full of potential and hope and opportunity.

Needless to say, I still often bemoan my inability to look sleek in capri pants and my propensity to represent the lollipop guild if I venture toward any article of clothing lacking solid structure and raised hem lines. Even in my wedding dress, which I loved and deemed magical, the bounty of my form was apparent. While cautious not to let my comfort with my form become synonymous with inattention to health, I simply can no longer waste the energy on trying to be a size 6, when my body tortures itself to stay in a 12. So, approaching the 30 year mark on my life, I can now say that I am comfortable in my own skin.

Then, along came Piccolino.

Again, I am going to attempt to abstain from graphic representation of my exact complaints, but there are some issues which are definitely a part of my pregnancy, which are worthy of discussion. 7 weeks in, and I've already been maternity shopping. Yup. That's right: MATERNITY SHOPPING.

While my stomach has never been flat by any means, there still is not a noticeable baby bump. I just look like I've skipped the gym, as opposed to ACCELERATING my cardio regiment. However, if you travel slightly north of my waist line, there is an area which has always been prominent. Guess what!? It's getting even more so now. Awesome.

The very first discomfort signaling something was different in my body and which prompted me to take my first pregnancy test was in that region. Those pains have continued, increased intermittently, and (apparently) have wrought some change. Thus, everything I own looks like a bad attempt at being a chubby, short Jessica Rabbit knock-off. Even those frocks reserved for covering my body on those days when I don't feel my best are puckering in that very "blessed" area.

While I may write it off and simply resign myself to large T-shirts or loosely formed tarps, I have at least one important event coming up. We are set to travel to Utah September 1 for a West coast celebration of our wedding. My in laws are very modest people. No one on my husband's side of the family has ever, for even a moment, made me feel as though I need to conform to an outward standard. However, I cannot imagine meeting their friends and extended family looking like a Dolly Parton replica minus the tiny waist line. Even though we are making this new announcement while celebrating the last major life event, I would like to look young and happy and kept and not-white-trash. Is that really to much to ask, Piccolino?

So, in the tradition of the great men who went before him, my father pulled up to our house yesterday, arms full of goodies from his garden, "meat bread" that his grandmother used to make that my mother learned to replicate PERFECTLY, and after dinner plans that involved a trip to the local mall. After enjoying our Penne a la Vodka and meat bread, my parents loaded in the car with Nathaniel and I and set off on our first maternity shopping trip. At seven weeks into this pregnancy.

The good news is, there is a conscientious movement to make pregnant women feel attractive, even in spite of the seemingly unnatural distortions occurring in their bodies. The bad news: I never embraced my bump BEFORE being pregnant. I am not likely to start now.

After hating my ever increasing bosom, wanting to walk a careful financial line, and still being in shock that I was in a maternity store (at 7 weeks along... SEVEN WEEKS!), we eventually settled on 2 shirts that could take me a ways into this process, and 2 dresses I could wear in Utah and maintain my sense of dignity and self respect in front of Nathaniel's family and friends.

I am not going to downplay my disappointment with how rapidly my body is eager to take on extra weight and distribute it in ways that make me look akin to a Picasso painting. I worked hard to forget the taunts of those long-legged high schoolers. There are days when their words still ring louder than my appreciation for my ancestry. I am not pleased that I annually travel with my mom to an outlet that can furnish me with enough "support" for an entire year, and now have to deviate from those things to accommodate my circus-worthy body. However, I acknowledge that other women go through worse.

My clients with active hallucinations learn to deal with voices distorting their perception of reality in order to gestate a child. Other friends have gone through daily injections of hormones to prepare for and maintain a pregnancy. My own mother endured toxemia AND pre eclampsia. My poor cousin and best friend didn't see her own feet for a year, thanks to her child and her similar gestational development. I understand that to bring forth this child, who had better NEVER say that I don't love him or her, my body is subject to changes that will protect and nourish him or her, but may not contribute to my ideal appearance standards.

I just have to vent this disappointment.

And, then, I have to get over it.

I have a father who is willing to buy me a "Pregnancy calendar" just because I mentioned wanting it. I have a mother who is planning Friday soups for me during the winter, as she craved it and has a suspicion I will as well (and she also knows it will be a vibrant link to the grandmother I just lost and wish could be around for this season). I have a husband who went to a mall on a SATURDAY NIGHT, attempted to attend to his surroundings as best he could, and still loves me. I have a brother who is willing to mock me endlessly. I have endless friends willing to listen. I have 5 sisters in law who supernaturally know when I need a text/phone call/Facebook message/other expression of love. All in all, it's not a bad way to have your deck stacked.

but, Really??? REALLY??? SEVEN WEEKS??? REALLY??? This kid better be cute :)

Here I lay...

It happened... finally... everyone said it was just a matter of time: I got up last night to tinkle.

While I am going to make a concerted effort to keep gross facts out of the eyes and minds of the beloved people who read this blog (I cannot imagine ever talking to my father in law about my potty habits in real life... Hi, Dad Eschler!), this event has to be noted. First, because it is a nearly universal complaint that litters the status updates of my rapidly procreating friend list. Secondly, because I don't tinkle. My mother says I used to wake up dry in the morning as a baby in diapers, and my kidneys and bladder have never been in a huge rush - especially in the morning.

But alas, now that I am tinkling for 2...

Nathaniel started his job yesterday. He works Thursday evenings. While I am not a huge fan of us working on an opposite schedule, one night a week is not terrible for us eating dinner separately. He says he had 2 students last night, with another starting next week. He is teaching a young boy named Nathaniel, whom he labeled as "a very bright kid"... must be the name. I am hoping that his job is enjoyable and fun. Nathaniel has hit another road block with his music, which always breeds frustration and pain. We also went to the doctor regarding the chronic pain Nathaniel feels in his neck/arms/hands. This doctor also says there is nothing detectable to treat right now. However, she is very proactive and is working through a number of options for helping him feel better.

Nathaniel's job comes just in time as we opened a separate savings account just for Piccolino (or Piccolino Roberto as Little Bobby Melket now calls him/her). All donations can be sent to... haha... just kidding!

Our life is boring right now. As we've settled into the shock of a baby, the conversations around here sound more like the mundane conversations everyone else has.

N: How was your day at work today?
V: Fine. Until 2 pm. That's when your child decided to kick all the food and nutrients out of my body and make me lay down on the therapist's couch.
N: My child? I never waste food. Why would you blame that one on me?
V: Because my child would never do this to the body in which he or she was living!
N: Well, I think your DNA is more likely to want to redecorate the place...

and on and on and on... it's a fun time for us as a couple, even though things like finances and his music and frustrating NC mental health legislation loom large in the back of our minds at all times. Our trip to Utah is so needed, but it seems like the weeks are not disappearing until we can get there. As we wait, I'll just keep typing as here I lay... waiting for the days and weeks to move us forward to several seemingly pre-determined events...

I feel pregnant today...

Based on my feelings today, I have very little worry about whether or not we are going to hear a heartbeat next Tuesday. I FEEL PREGNANT!

I woke up this morning at 6:45, unable to move because I had to tinkle so badly. Once that priority was taken care of, I went on to take care of my weekly documentation, ensuring that I got it submitted by 9 am. However, instead of stationing myself in the living room as I usually do, the best I could achieve was propping the laptop on my stomach while I typed laying in my super comfortable bed and regaled my superiors with anecdotes about the past week's interventions.

Once I finished the documentation (by 8:45... yeah! look at me being efficient), it took all of my energy to make a coffee and move to our chairs outside so I could sit in the humidity while I hoped for a caffeine-induced energy burst. I managed to eat most of a banana (shared some with Hector), but was turned off by the consistency.

Now, I sit at work, stomach churning, tired again, and wondering how seriously I am supposed to take the note on the side of the Tums bottle when it says "Do not exceed 7 tablets in a 24 hour period."

Heartbeat or no, I'm pretty sure this is a full-on pregnancy.

**N.B. Perhaps out of sympathy to me, or in a prenatal father-child conspiracy, Nathaniel decided the "Sublime Ice Cream Sandwiches" from Trader Joe's were in order today... we ate them in the car... and, the advertising is not false.. they are, in fact, SUBLIME...

Introducing...

"Piccolino"





I don't know how, for the life of me, to get this to be horizontal. The doctor showed us this picture at today's appointment. The dark circle toward the top of the photo is the baby. We were not able to hear the baby's heart rate. We are going back on Monday to recheck it all. We saw what the doctor described as "early fetal cardiac activity," but were unable to capture it on the auditory sensor. So, the child will have 4 ultrasounds in the 4 weeks we've known about him/her.

As of today, we are 5 weeks, 6 days into this process. The approximate due date is April 12, 2011... I will need a babysitter for our first anniversary... wow...

We'll let you know how everything keeps progressing... Nothing about this child is straight forward... conceived against all odds, the drama of the possible ectopic pregnancy, the incredible quadrupling of the pregnancy hormone, and now not letting us hear the heartbeat right away... I'm hoping we don't have a drama queen on our hands :)

(Not so) Manic Monday...

This child is already accomplishing some strange/amazing things in our life. I already explained that the act of conception alone demonstrates this child's intrinsic strength. That tradition of undeniably making his/her presence known continues now, less than 2 months into his/her existence.

The primary example of this ability to effect crazy change is that I am officially now a morning person.

Anyone who has ever lived with me knows that I am prone toward night owl habits. In high school, I complied with my mother's regulation of my schedule, but ached to be freed to a dorm. Once in Room 333 at Albright dorm on the Queens College campus, I gave my night lust free reign. I rarely even went out or did anything significant during the late hours. I just liked that I could stay up until 4 am and read or use the computer or plan my future with Heather on the swing beneath the magnificent trees. These trends continued to the home I shared with Leann at ECU, where we regularly enjoyed later hours for all things from studying to chatting. While crossing the threshold into a more full adulthood has moderated these hours, I still enjoy that I have a flexible work schedule so that I can stay up a bit later and start work a bit later. Since our marriage, Nathaniel and I were averaging midnight for bed, with our morning routine (breakfast, shower, coffee, etc) completed before the 9 am start to a work day.

In addition to my late propensities, I am NOT a morning person. When I lived at home, my mother regularly thought I was mean in the mornings, as I generally choose not to speak for the first hour of consciousness each day. Also, I canNOT eat before 10 am. The thought of putting anything in my mouth except for the sweet elixir of life, espresso, generally sends me into sensory-aversion fits.

However, in keeping with his/her story, this child is changing me.

I now wake up religiously slightly after 7 am (before the 7:30 alarm goes off - sorry to all my teacher friends who consider that hour "sleeping in"). When I wake up, while I am not terribly social, I am incredibly goal oriented. I am ready to make Nathaniel's breakfast, clean whatever is dirty, rearrange whatever is messy, check the work email, personal email, school email, facebook, pregnancy newsletter from parents magazine and blog. I take the dog out and play with him a bit. I make mental lists in my head of the shopping that needs to be done, the clients I need to contact, assessments I need to complete, intakes I need to schedule, and questions I have for the doctor. All of these things occur before Nathaniel gets out of bed, generally.

While other people (hi, Mom) wake up like this everyday of their lives and accomplish 30 additional things in half the time, this is a COMPLETE revamping of my traditional schedule. I usually don't "get into a groove" until noon! Now, my days are started off with organization and initiative! While I still relish those last moments of feeling the pillow case on my cheek each morning, I get up and feel motivated to be efficient and effective as I move through my day from the moment I'm awake.

Sadly, this means I am not able to maintain my late hours. I miss the quiet of night, when the world calms and my mind continues into the darkness. Last night, I fell asleep at my parents house BEFORE 10 PM, watching a new episode of "Bridezillas." Most of you know I spend my "Bridezilla" time very engaged: diagnosing the subjects, screaming empowerment to their defeated bridal party/family, and critiquing the decor/aesthetics of the weddings. For me to fall asleep during that show means Piccolino is calling shots over which I have very little control.

This morning, I woke up, made an iced latte, took Hector out, put away the clean laundry and started Nathaniel's breakfast in the space of 35 minutes. I'm thankful for the burst of energy that lasts me at least 15 hours - especially during a period of pregnancy marked usually by extreme exhaustion and nausea in other women. I'm hoping this trend continues. Health and efficiency are the plan for the rest of the pregnancy. Of course, I am clearly not as in control of things as I would like to think I am - so, we'll see about those best laid plans of mice and men.

We have a doctor's appointment today. At 1:30, we will have the THIRD ultrasound of this child's life, complete with heartbeat detection, and due date determination. I told the doctor at the last appointment that I wanted a note to exempt me from full body scanning at the airports during our upcoming trip to Utah. He laughed and said "the terrorists trying to avoid the scanners can't get TSA to accept their doctor's note... I'm not sure they'll listen to my note!" I enjoy a doctor with a sarcastic sense of humor. Hopefully, we'll be able to give a good report later today, and I'll have a few more fears allayed.

Until then, I'm going to take advantage of this energy burst and clean the bathroom before work!

The Beauty of a Saturday...

I was raised in a family that revered weekends. My father worked a full time, regular, federal government employee schedule that afforded him a dinner time and some prime time TV with his family before he had to make lunch, iron a shirt, and otherwise prepare for the next day. My mother always assimilated to his schedule, choosing to work in some capacity that would allow us to spend time together on the weekend as a family.

When Nathaniel and I got married, over 100 whole days ago (long time ago, right?), we agreed on a schedule that would force me to diverge from that weekend luxury. Since he still is working on his dissertation, we decided that we would set aside one day a week to spend together, and the other 6 days would be devoted to working and otherwise preparing for our future (LSAT studying, program research, etc). I generally prefer to take Sunday as our day together, but we've been flexible about it so as to give each other the room needed to do what is on our plate.

This weekend appeared to be shaping up like the others. I had to be at a parent-teacher event at the elementary school where I teach in Wake Forest, North Carolina (about 30 minutes north of our house). A client from my full time agency who lives nearby also needed some assistance, so I was going to help her after I met the parents of the children I would teach this year. Nathaniel was going to work on his dissertation and try to focus on a few other things we have failed to focus on since learning about the happy little revision to our 10 year plan last weekend.

But, these 6 day work week plans were very pleasantly interrupted this week. My client called me last night, saying she felt bad about asking me to help her on a weekend (a LANDMARK feat of introspection for someone with Borderline Personality Disorder), and got her mother to help her instead. Thus, while I was still obliged to shake hands with the family of students, I was otherwise free. Nathaniel also has figured out a recent problem with his piece and is kind of at a stand still. So, instead of working, he went to the school with me, faced suburbia, and has spent the entire day with me.

A truly glorious Saturday, directly in the tradition of my childhood!

After the school, we met my parents for bagel sandwiches at a local deli and spent a leisurely afternoon discussing plans, revision of plans, should-have scenarios, and definitely-will projections. One of the "perks" to pregnancy in an Italian-Hispanic family is the belief that a pregnant woman should not be denied anything that will inure to her comfort and sustenance. Not only did my dad get me a DELICIOUS egg salad on sesame, but also a black and white cookie and TWO pairs of shoes, slightly larger than I usually wear, to last me into these 9 months. (This Italian-Hispanic girl intends to make her pregnancy healthy, so the black and white cookies will not be too frequent. So far, the only thing I've craved is MEAT... of any sort... My mother says she craved meat with me...)

Then, we went shopping. Nathaniel is still wrapping his head and heart around all of this surprise, but he is making TREMENDOUS progress. Today, he was able to discuss names we like and do not like and the art prints we want in the baby nursery. We are going to avoid more traditional baby themes like teddy bears or trains, instead opting for a particular artist, with whom we'll coordinate our decor. The current front runners are Matisse, Van Gogh, and O'Keefe. I'm personally in the Van Gogh camp (I have been since seeing each of his paintings in person in Amsterdam in 4th grade). I also have a very warm spot in my heart for Matisse. Nathaniel worries that Van Gogh won't be unique enough. He likes O'Keefe, as the colors could be subtle and it would be a positive American artist role model for our child. There are many weeks left to discuss the nuances. So, our shopping took us to Barnes and Noble, maternity clothes surveying (a girl has to budget), and ultimately Target.

We finally came home for a homemade fajita dinner, after which I fell asleep on Nathaniel while he watched "Short Circuit." Yeah, you read that right... He won't be happy I put that out there in public :) (Number 5 is ALIVE!)

It was a completely beautiful Saturday. It was a Saturday where our newly forming family spent time with each other in very personal, yet slightly idle pursuits. It was a Saturday where my sick feelings that I get everyday at 2 pm did not get the final say and, instead, we listened to the pace of our own desires. Tomorrow we're having a traditional Sunday pasta lunch with my parents, my brother and sister in law, and their kids. Never have we needed a weekend more and rarely have we given ourselves permission to take one.

Perhaps that is why I was able to particularly enjoy the beauty of this Saturday.

It's easy to be optimistic...

It's a whole lot easier to be optimistic on payday. And today is payday. In addition to being the glorious, once monthly payday, this is potentially the last payday where my check from Psych Support (my full time agency) is the only one we can depend on for the whole month. That truth makes it even easier to be optimistic than usual.

Yesterday, Nathaniel was offered a position teaching guitar at a music school in a more affluent Raleigh suburb, Cary. His hourly intake should be enough that he does not have to work more than 1 full day a week and will be able to alleviate our current financial tensions. Additionally, I went to the ribbon cutting for the new building for the school where I teach elementary music part time. I have a BEAUTIFUL classroom, with intense technological resources, plenty of keyboards, and all the space I was missing in the old building. This year, I will be teaching 2 classes of general music, 1 choral class, various small group piano lessons, and 3 classes of Spanish. I will be spending 2 afternoons a week there, further relieving the pressure on our wallet. Once we have a few things taken care of (car inspection/new tires/new license plate/new bed frame/etc), we should be able to bank a large amount of our income. We've proven over the summer we can live off of my full time check (and the generosity of my father's trips to BJ's wholesale club)... now, we can build savings and alleviate at least one of our major worries: financing our little surprise.

Another reason for optimism today: my mom and dad got me a baby carrier. I tried it on and didn't go into a pre-natal-suburban-mom-jean-wearing-coma. I actually like it a lot. I feel like I'm going to be the coolest, most accessorized mother in recent past. Thank you, mom and dad, for the "Infantino" for Piccolino (the nickname given by Tia Kate).

Nathaniel just came out of his office, exclaiming that he figured out what was wrong with his piece and that we are officially past the 4 minutes, 30 second mark. That means he needs about 1 minute and 30 seconds more of music before he can feel good about turning in the piece for review and will, potentially, have half of his PhD requirements met - another reason for optimism.

I've told most of my "inner circle" now. There is a reason these people are my inner circle. I've been so encouraged by them. I've been told that having a baby does not necessarily mean I can't go back to school, that one child is easily manageable, that this child is already loved and part of our "friend-family." I have one friend who is grabbing as many maternity shirts for me as she can find. Another friend is excited to use his Sam's Club membership to buy us diapers. Another friend told me the story about how she calls herself "the accident" but her mother calls her the "pleasant surprise," as she was conceived about 3 months after their wedding. I am so fortunate to know these people and to be the recipient of their generous love and support. It's easy to be optimistic today.

We are planning our trip to Utah. We are so excited to see family. Nathaniel in particular is ready to be "home" for a bit... the humidity is wearing on us both, but it makes him long for the desert more than usual. This upcoming trip is another reason it's easier to be optimistic today.

I know there are still freak outs on the way - labor is still not high on my list of things to do... that can cause me heart palpitations by itself! But, it's easier to be optimistic today.

Back to Work...

So, the past couple of days have been a shock. Ever since those lines appeared on the stick in my bathroom on Thursday night, nothing has felt the same. Thankfully, I have an INCREDIBLY flexible work schedule and AMAZING bosses. Thus, I did not go in on Monday, worked a marginal amount yesterday, missed a staff meeting, and messed up a BUNCH of treatment requests with minimal consequence. My direct supervisor, the clinical director and the main psychiatrist/owner of the company welcomed me with open arms, reassurance, and love today. I told my direct supervisor about my "condition" Monday while I was in the office. She let the others in management know, mostly in an effort to advocate for me regarding my failed treatment requests.

Many of you know I recently had to take an 8% cut in pay in order to make up for some creative manipulations at the hands of the North Carolina Department of Mental Health. I am so thankful to be in an agency where I am protected from the bulk of that trouble, though. We are receiving applications from other people who do/did what I do. They did not fare as well in other area agencies. Every time I worry about that 8% reduction or the stresses I have to face with the timing of the pregnancy, I am amazed by the overwhelming support and love I feel at my office. While other women fear being let go or are otherwise compromised during their pregnancy and consequent maternity leave, I am getting nothing but oaths of support, love, and encouragement. Again, I feel silly for the worry that keeps nagging at the back of my mind and in the recesses of my heart. I am resourceful and placed in a network of support. It's not like I'm giving birth on the Oregon Trail like the women in the PBS documentary we watched last night!

I am working to make my home as relaxing and supportive as my office is. I feel like coming to work today, even facing all the silly mistakes I've made in my distraction, has been therapeutic (appropriate, since I work in a therapeutic office!). I want my home to have the same "vibe." One that says "the timing may not be what you expected, but there is always another coping skill to learn and you can become better in preparation for what lies ahead." It's harder when you don't have a team cheering you on toward the victory, and instead have the quiet of a living room that needs to be rearranged to fit the guest room furniture in order to make way for the crib. My fear and concern loom large in that space.

A lady in my office who is a seamstress has already shown me the bags she makes. I am not to get a diaper bag from anyone but her... she'll custom make it, she said. A friend already talked about getting together another "diaper dinner" where we go out as coworkers, enjoy a meal, and everyone brings a diaper or diaper product for the expectant mother. I have offers of babysitting, a coworker who is giving me her copy of "What to expect when you're expecting" and other generous expressions of love and support. It's an embarrassment of riches, really. I know women who can't get pregnant no matter how hard they try. My clients rarely have a home to take their children to, let alone a safe one decorated in family heirlooms and earth tones. I am wealthy beyond description, really. And, I am happy that they are the reality of the world into which I will birth this baby.

While I expect...

While I expect that my blog will only be an addition to the white noise of every other woman doing this for her family who is located far from the gestational process happening inside her, I hope to be able to make Salt Lake City, Utah, and Raleigh, North Carolina (and Newburgh, New York and Boston, MA and El Paso, Texas and Albuquerque, New Mexico and on and on and on) feel a lot closer over the next 35 (?) weeks. I'm excited to share the sonograms, aches, pains, fears, frustrations, hopes, and plans we have for ourselves and our child in a way that our family feels welcome and involved.

I chose the title "1 in a million (literally)" because that is what the doctor said our chances of conception were when a shell-shocked Nathaniel asked how we became pregnant despite regularly taken birth control AND the Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome I've been battling since my diagnosis in 1998. "1 in a million (literally)" was much more elegant than the other explanation he gave: "the sperm got to the egg."

As of right now, I'm just waiting for the doctor to call with my current hormone level and give me an approximate due date. We saw what the doctor believes is our baby on an ultrasound yesterday, but it's still too early to determine anything truly.

Nathaniel woke up today eager to get to his music. Tonight, we start our daily 2 hour routine: 1 hour devoted to his dissertation, 1 hour to studying for the LSAT with me. While our ENTIRE future seems to be a question mark, we are committed to being as proactive as we can. I told my parents (who are eager to begin pre-natal spoiling) that the first gift I want from them is a baby sling. I feel the sling is indicative of our parenting intentions. It says: "Hang on, baby... you go where we go... there is A LOT left to do... you're a part of it all now..."

I will not lie. I am TERRIFIED. I am terrified about the pain. I am terrified that I won't be able to keep this sacred charge through the 9 months and may cause harm to this new life. I am scared for Nathaniel, as he battles to stay optimistic about already dreaded work prospects, as well as a daunting PhD completion. I am worried about the money situation. I am scared about my ability to complete my education and life goals. I am terrified of settling for a second best, instead of the goals we went into our young marriage pursuing. I am worried that I won't have my own questions answered, mostly about my spiritual pursuits, before I have another life asking me for guidance. I am scared. Like I have never been before. However, the other day as I was writing in my new journal, I realized a few things that offer me hope:

1. Nathaniel and I are committed to doing things with excellence. This task will be no different.
2. We both have amazing family and support systems. We are not this child's only hope. THANK GOD!
3. While I never want my child to know I cried or felt fear when I found out about his or her existence, I want my child to be passionately grounded in an unrelenting pursuit of an objective truth. Thus, those emotions are part of his/her story with us. I want my child to be more thankful for an imperfect reality than the most perfect illusion. This child is welcome, although unexpected. This child is loved, although it has taken/continues to take significant adjustment for me to get past tears and worry.
4. Any egg that can break through 12 years of chemical suppression and a diagnosis that includes drastically reduced fertility chances, implant in a hostile environment, and flourish is already an amazing creature. This child is beginning with strength and spontaneity as his/her trademark. I am honored to be the mother to him/her already.
5. I love my husband. I love his art. I love his goals. My husband loves me. He loves my pursuits. He loves my goals. An unforeseen baby can either serve to magnify or destroy that. It is completely our choice. I choose to use this pregnancy as a source of inspiration, motivation, and strength.

*****While writing this post, the doctor's office called. My hormone levels have QUADRUPLED. The hormone range places me between the 5th and 6th week of pregnancy. I have an appointment to go in on Monday for a follow up ultrasound, heart rate detection, and due date determination. The first question is gone: this pregnancy is completely viable at this point. Onward and upward (and outward, I fear!)