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I'm Having a Baby ... Probably

When we last left off, I was telling you about the big ultrasound scare. At six weeks pregnant, we could see a heartbeat on the monitor, but the doctor feared it was too slow to be healthy. We returned two days later, braced for bad news. “I don’t even have to count,” said the doctor. “I can tell it’s just fine now.”

Cue wracking sobs. I was so relieved and grateful that I couldn’t stop shaking for, like, a full 10 minutes. I had to go splash water on my face so I wouldn’t scare the people in the waiting room. We were having a baby! Maybe. Because the thing is, when you’re 43 and high risk, you’re never really out of the woods.

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A couple of days later, I started spotting. I won’t keep you in suspense again—it was nothing. These things just happen sometimes. But I was good and terrified there for a while, and despite all the calming prenatal yoga I plan on doing and the gentle, meditative walks I plan on taking, I’m sure I will continue to panic until I’m full term.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I learned that making it through the first trimester is only one hurdle. During my second trimester, I was put on bed rest for an incompetent cervix (they were sure I’d have a preemie due to preterm labor), and during my third trimester I found out I had a mild form of gestational diabetes. Incredibly, it all worked out (life finds a way!) and I sincerely hope it will again, but I’ve learned to brace myself for the unexpected.

I think the moral in all of our stories is that trying to conceive can really take its toll, physically and emotionally, but in the end, it’s worth it

Still, I’m allowing myself little joys, like thinking up baby names, and imagining my daughter’s face when I tell her she’s going to be a big sister. I’m mentally rearranging the nursery to accommodate two kids. I’m digging out my old maternity clothes because my belly has popped so early, like everyone warns you it will the second time around.

I feel incredibly lucky, which is a scary, fragile thing, but I’ll take it. After two and half years of trying to conceive, I’ll never know why it worked this time. Was it the acupuncture? The wacky rhythmic foot tapping and warm ginger baths the energy healer advised? Or was it giving away all my daughter’s baby things? That might have done it.

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I’ll miss writing this conception diary, which has been fun and great therapy, but I’ll continue to blog about my pregnancy elsewhere on Mom.me, so don’t be a stranger. And I’ll keep rooting for Risa and Rebekah, who share so bravely here every week.

I think the moral in all of our stories is that trying to conceive can really take its toll, physically and emotionally, but in the end, it’s worth it. There is no one right way to become a mother, so don’t give up on your dreams. Luck and baby dust to everyone.

Love, Amy

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