a little relief

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been feeling so, so crabby. I’m living with a number of activity restrictions that, in combination, make me feel crazy. I mean, you take no exercise and no sex and shake that up with no red wine, and how would you feel? It doesn’t help that I’ve been working—and worrying about work—a lot lately, which is annoying because it’s not my writing/teaching work, but my pay-the-bills work.

I’d also been worrying about my ultrasound, which was two days ago. I was anxious about what kind of news we would get, and I was also crabby because I felt I had been coerced into the genetic counseling session that went with the Level II ultrasound. D. and I had decided against the blood tests and amnio and all that extra stuff, and I felt that I was now being forced into the counseling session against my will. The receptionist just kept saying, “Well, it goes with the ultrasound, and you are of advanced maternal age.”

I’m 35, people—not exactly elderly. But whatever, I agreed. I was, however, feeling quite petulant about it all, and I realized that it was a distinct possibility that I’d be a bitch to the counselor. I was relieved that D. would be there to pinch my leg if I got out of hand, but it’s generally not a good sign if I sense my bad behavior before I start behaving badly.

Well. The genetic counselor was lovely. I couldn’t have conjured a gentler, more soft-spoken, understanding woman if I’d tried. Really. Why had I been so worried about this? And she made an interesting connection between my grandmother’s two miscarriages and stillbirth (my mom is an only child) and my blood clot. I’ve been thinking about my grandmother and her pregnancy losses a lot lately, but I hadn’t made a real connection. The counselor suggested I have my blood tested for a clotting disorder that could be genetic. Very interesting.

And the ultrasound itself was such a relief. No signs of chromosomal abnormalities. No new blood clots. And the baby—a GIRL!!—was kicking around as if she was at Jr. Olympic try-outs. You go, girl.

I’m actually thrilled that it’s another girl. A boy would have been fine, of course. A healthy, full-term baby really has been the goal, though people don’t seem to believe me when I say that. It’s odd how many people just assume that I want a boy because I already have a girl. It seems so old-school to me. But I really never imagined myself as a mother to boys. Odd, I know. But there you have it.

Stella has been wanting a baby sister and insisting that the baby would be a girl, so I thought she would scream and/or jump up and down when D. and I told her, but she just smiled slightly and said in her best teenage voice, “I already told you it was a girl, mom.” Duh.