Yesterday I had jury duty. I was supposed to arrive at the courthouse at 7:30am, so I set my alarm clock for 6, which I thought was eminently reasonable. Of course, I woke up at 8.
Disregarding all laws of traffic (and several of physics), I was at the courthouse by 8:30. I rushed into the jury assembly room, ran breathlessly up to the man standing behind the podium, and blurted out, “I’m so sorry I’m late! I’m pregnant and my alarm didn’t go off!”
I was neither arrested nor beaten for my transgression. Instead the man looked amused and told me to go sit down. So that was all right.
My day was then long and dull, though I did manage to squeak out of a 70-day criminal trial.
This post has no real point to it, other than to say, what the fuck is this elegy to evangelist Billy Graham doing posted outside the LA Metropolitan Courthouse?
After my post yesterday, I went home from work to discover that I felt a little bit wet in the nether regions. Thinking this was normal pregnancy discharge, I checked, and found that no, in fact, this was about 8 liters of blood soaking my underwear. Or so it seemed, as time slowed and I stopped breathing. In reality, it was only maybe a few tablespoons, and it was brown, which was a good thing – brown blood is old blood, and usually doesn’t indicate miscarriage.
I paged the doctor on call for my clinic, and he told me that while he wasn’t worried about what I was describing, I should put my feet up for the rest of the evening and get in to the office first thing in the morning. “Because you’ll want to hear the heartbeats,” he said. And he was right. I did. More than anything.
We went in at 9am today, where we were reassured that “90% of women who go through IVF have bleeding in their first trimester.” Which was indeed reassuring, but it really would have been nice to know that a little earlier. I dunno, maybe before the Red Tide of Terror?
The ultrasound revealed two healthy embryos with steady heartbeats, measuring 9 weeks and 2 days and 9 weeks and 3 days. I am 9 weeks and 1 day pregnant, so the babies are clearly eating their Wheaties.
As always, the doctor printed out ultrasound photos for me. And when I looked? I swear I could see those kids laughing at me.
I have much to say about this whole baby-growing thing, but work is hectic. So I will just take this moment to say today we are at 9 weeks, and I am so grateful. After all the trouble we had getting here, part of me never thought we’d make it this far. I feel lucky every day.
Evan is doing really, really well after yesterday’s surgery! Hooray!
Also, today my babies like eggs. And pickles. Weirdos.
When I designed my blog, and chose for my banner picture a nest with two eggs, I had several things in mind:
- A bird’s nest is a safe home for precious things – my virtual bird’s nest would be a safe home for my thoughts and opinions.
- A bird’s nest is an eclectic place, built with diverse materials – I always meant this to be an eclectic space, in which I could range from the political to the personal and back.
- A bird’s nest is a gathering place – and here you all are, gathered around.
Now I think it is time to add a new dimension to the symbolism of the picture above.
That’s an 8 week ultrasound picture of the twins currently chillin’ in my uterus.