It's frankly quite amazing that I can feel so tied to this little poppyseed inside me already. It's barely developed, it hasn't moved in any way that I can feel it, and it doesn't yet have a heartbeat. Yet it's already taken the form of my child to me. It's become a life that I hope to bring into the world and raise to be a good, geniune person.
I've read a lot of information on the internet about the symptoms I'm experiencing, and it all boiled down to one thing: Don't read medical information on the internet. Between the anectdotal information and the half-facts given, it was really a ridiculous waste of my time and only served to make me more stressed and anxious. That being said, what else was I to do when it was after the doctor office closed and I had nothing to do but guess what was going on inside of me until the next morning when I could call in?
Part of me, the extreme pessimist that I've tried to muffle for a few years now, is screaming that I will never get pregnant again and I can't do anything right. The other part of me, the gentler hopeful optimist, is encouraging me to have faith and just wait to hear from the doctor before I think the worst. The realist inside me is telling me that we can try again and again until everything works out.
In the end, I just have to wait and see. And have patience, the virtue that has always been the most difficult for me.
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