8w1d

I'd like to say I've been waiting to begin writing until I reached the 8-week mark, as some means of symbolism, but it's just been my overwhelmed state that's rendered me unable to accurately put the past few weeks into words.

When I saw the two lines pop up on the home pregnancy test several weeks back, I was in shock. Not for any reason as scandalous as not knowing who the father would be (I'm happily married) or how it could have happened (we stopped taking birth control months earlier), but for the simple fact that once I saw that, I knew our lives would never be the same.

One week later, we were sitting in a darkened room, undergoing an ultrasound to ensure that the cramps and spotting I'd been experiencing were nothing to worry about. My nerves quickly gave way to fear as I listened to the technician tell us there was no embryo, no heartbeat. I felt as though I were floating inches above my body, watching this moment happen to someone else. My doctor gently told me it didn't look good - but taking blood to be sure would be a good measure.

My blood work showed positive news, in the form of heightened hormone levels. At these levels, we should have seen a heartbeat...but there have been instances where it's just too early and it was possible - possible - that the ultrasound could be repeated in a week with different results.

A week. A week where we didn't sleep. A week where we alternately mourned the loss of something we'd only just begun to grasp, while praying for good news and hoping against hope that we hadn't lost this chance to become parents. A week where there was nothing to talk about, no words to adequately express how difficult it was to wait for an answer - one way or the other. We accepted it even as we hoped we were wrong, we dealt with it even as we didn't want to believe it, and we thought about trying again even as we wished we wouldn't have to.

Once again, in a darkened room, waiting for the news that would bring an end to the waiting...and possibly, an end to the hope. I kept my eyes tightly shut, squeezing my husband's hand just as tightly. When the technician said "There's the heartbeat", I began sobbing - which quickly turned to laughter as I looked at the screen and saw the tiny quiver of movement.

Apparently we still aren't out of the woods. There was something present on the ultrasound that concerned the doctor, something that is associated with an increased risk of miscarriage. We go back to the doctor next week for a follow up, and while I still have fear buried deep in the corners of my mind, I'm encouraged by the symptoms.

The nausea begins the moment I open my eyes in the morning, and doesn't wane until I close my eyes at night...and is only subsided by eating every few hours. The heartburn as a result of the frequent eating is fiery and intense. The exhaustion during the day knocks me on my ass, yet I try to refrain from napping since sleeping well at night seems to have escaped me.

It's glorious. I wouldn't have it any other way.