A couple weeks ago, we were happily dreaming about our new home. Looking at light fixtures and sinks and hardware and doors and tile and flooring, and etc...
We had just met with our builder the day before, and made a few changes to our blueprints. The next step was for the architect to make those changes, so our builder could re-bid the job.
Hubs had taken the week off to work on the road/driveway to our place. He had been unloading and moving material around for days, and packing it down, getting it ready for the big trucks to start hauling in cement and wood and all the other things that go together to build a house.
He had taken Christian to school, but the boys weren't up yet. I woke up, and still tired, tried to go back to sleep. But sleep, as usual these days, eluded me, so I got up.
On a whim (maybe not a complete whim) I took a pregnancy test out.. and within about 3 seconds, it was positive. Or, I thought it was positive. The line was pretty faint.
I walked into the living room in a daze, and showed it to Hubs.
"Do you see anything here??? Am I really seeing this???" I asked him.
Shell-shocked, we just sat on the couch and stared at each other for a while. He, of course, was quite happy.
Me, not so much.
I had a completely different plan for next year. One that didn't invove a newborn.
Cullen will start kindergarten next year, and I was really looking forward to having just Cavan at home with me. I envisioned us playing together, getting out more, and just snuggling lots and lots. He's a champion snuggler.
I envisioned lunch with friends, ladies' Bible study each week, and decorating our new house.
I envisioned a life free of diapers.
That day, I calculated how far along I should be (as I write this, it should be about 8 weeks), and then went into town for a blood test.
The nurse called me a few hours later to kick-off the myriad doctor's appointments I will be participating in over the next year. But she said that the number from the blood test was really low, and I couldn't be more than two weeks along. Which surprised (and scared) me, since I know beyond a shadow of a doubt when my last cycle began. And also approximately when... umm... the baby was probably... umm... "put in my tummy," as we say to Christian. :)
So they cancelled the ultrasound originally scheduled for yesterday. They said it wouldn't show anything at all, since there wasn't much to see yet.
I went in yesterday, to see the doctor and get more blood drawn.When I finally got to see him (I went from one department to another to another, and spent over 3 hours there yesterday) I asked him about it. I really got the feeling that he wasn't expecting this pregnancy to be viable. He said if I were truly 8 weeks along, my "numbers" would be in the thousands, not 64, which is what it was two weekss ago. He said before we get to talking about all the stuff we're going to talk about, we need to make sure that number goes up. And the results wouldn't be in until the next day... which happens to be today. He said his nurse would call me when they knew more.
I left and called Hubs and told him. Basically, we just didn't know anything.
Fifteen minutes later, my cell phone rang.
"GET USED TO BEING PREGNANT!" My doctor sang into the phone. Everybody else had gone for the day, but the lab had left my results on his desk. My "number" was now 20,000. So he's re-scheduling my ultrasound, for as soon as possible. They're going to call me today to set it up.
I've been feeling quite tired and nauseated lately.
Oh, the nausea. It's been fantastical. Faaaaaaaaaar worse than with the other four pregnancies. Faaaaaaaaaaar, faaaaaaaaaaar worse. Not even in the realm of imagination worse.
We've stocked up on crackers and ginger ale and preggie pop drops (I loathe that name), but so far nothing is really helping.
I take a Zyrtec every day. I have for the last six or seven years. I itch violently, all over my body, if I don't. And they told me yesterday to stop taking them until I'm 12 weeks along. Yippee. Adding to my misery. I really don't know how I'm going to make it without that tiny little pill.
To make matters worse, they told me I'm considered "high risk" because of advanced maternal age.
Thank YOU very much.
If you'll excuse me, Mamaw's got to take her Centrum Silver and lie down for the first nap of the day. Hopefully I'll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when the National Enquirer gets here to take my picture. Maybe later I'll meet Hubs at the Denny's for the early-bird dinner. Say, three o'clock?