Every pregnant woman worries and wonders about her unborn child, but I suspect it is especially bad for those who have suffered through infertility and miscarriages.
While other pregnant women toss back cappuccinos, Taco Bell nachos and Krispy Kremes, I feel guilty for having that medium fry last week. No medication is ingested before extensive research is undertaken (even the doctor’s recommendations are suspect until proven completely risk-free), and if there were any way to safely install a tiny window in my abdomen so that I could gaze continually upon this marvelous little life growing inside me, I would — out of concern for the baby– have it installed without anesthesia.
I’ve cut back on drinking vitamin-fortified fruit juices to avoid getting harmful megadoses of certain vitamins, and I’ve scaled back the time I spend with the kitties, just in case there’s any trace of toxoplasmosis lingering in their plentiful hindquarter fur. In short, my paranoia rivals that of people who spend their days bouncing off the walls of their padded cells.
Worse yet, my next ultrasound is five weeks away. Sure, there’s a heartbeat, but how are my baby’s organs? Are all the fingers and toes there? What if there’s a neural-tube defect, since I was taking prenatals so sporadically before I got that positive pregnancy test?
Unfortunately, since nobody’s invented a handy little Plexiglass window for the uterus yet, I will have to take it on faith that the baby is doing fine. The bigger my belly gets and the more I vomit and break out and feel the need to nap three hours after waking up, the better the little bean is probably doing. In a few short weeks, I should be able to feel the baby moving, which will be a great source of relief. On the other hand, knowing me, it also opens up the potential for a great source of additional worry and wondering!
And here they are, the Week 13 belly shots:
