(Originally marked private)
So we had the first doctor’s appointment today. It was pretty standard. Various bodily fluids, advice not to drink, smoke, do drugs or get X-rays. The dr. seems mellow, although he was somewhat annoyed at my pessimism. I felt rather justified in being pessimistic, with my family history of miscarriage. (Editor’s note: an rightly so!)
But he ordered an ultrasound, and so we went, and I was covered goop. And lo! There was a heartbeat! A little fluttery butterfly of a heartbeat! On the little lima bean of a baby! I have pictures, but they’re stills, obviously. So you can’t see the heart beat, and that’s the amazing part of it.
I am seven weeks and change, according to both the drs. and the ultrasound tech. Unfortunately, this puts the baby’s due date on an easy-to-remember September 23. That’s right, my birthday. I hope they miss by a little. I think a kid deserves a birthday of it’s own. Um, and I don’t wanna share.
It wasn’t stated explicitly, but looking at the pictures, there’s only one little bugger in there. Good to know.
Three weeks, and then I go back. But astonishingly, only 4 or so weeks after conception, I have a picture of our child.