Today marks six weeks. Every day is a bit of a relief. Every week is a tiny celebration. It is still early. Two and a half weeks before I go to a doctor. Then, if there is a heartbeat, the risk of loss will be down to 1%, (according to this study at 8.5 weeks). Right now the risk of loss is supposedly 1 in 6, the roll of a die.
I share all this because it is on my mind. Not every second of every day, but in the back of my thoughts until a new symptom occurs and I race through my mental catalogue of pregnancy research. Numbers help. I had no idea I would feel so nervous for these first weeks to pass.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still excited. I tell myself to trust, relax, be happy. Even so, I can’t help but wish my doctor would see me earlier, tell me there is a heartbeat. I am reading a book about embracing times of discomfort. Maybe that is the lesson here, that sometimes life will include periods of great uncertainty where acceptance and patience are key.
Fingers and toes crossed.