The first thing the FOB did when I told him I was pregnant was to take me to the grocery store where I could buy one of those home pregnancy tests. He wanted to know for sure, dammit, and he believed that a $9 test sold out of the pharamacy next to the condoms and lube was the best way. We brought it back to his apartment, I peed on it, and waited. The packaging told me that I would have to wait up to three minutes to see anything, but that positive results sometimes come faster. Ten seconds later, I was staring at a positive result. TEN SECONDS! The thing changed colors in my hand and I dutifully tromped into the FOB's bedroom with my pee covered stick to show him what can happen after a night in Brooklyn.
I was in denial for a long time after that. "These things could be wrong. I could have ovarian cancer (which can cause false positive results)." At the time, it made more sense for me to believe that I had ovarian cancer rather than a baby growing inside me. It wasn't until 8 or 9 weeks that I actually believed that the whole "baby thing" was real and I breathed a huge sigh of relief after 12 weeks, when my risk of miscarriage dropped significantly. Given my family history of difficult pregnancies, I was never sure that I could carry this baby to term. Each passing month has been a surprise and every morning I wake up, rub my belly, and think, "Good. You're still there. How did you sleep? I slept like shit."
Yesterday, though, at 24 weeks I looked at my precious baby on the ultrasound monitor and realized how much bigger he was than at 20 weeks. I could watch him kick out his legs and feel the kick simultaneously in my uterus. It was surreal. He turned over for us and the technician measured his spine and spinal cord (everything looks good). She measured his head (6 cms!!! That is huge. How is that going to come out of my vagina? I can only dialate to 10cm!) and she measured his legs and arms. She had a hard time getting him to lay still enough to measure his legs, they kept pounding into my bladder. Yup, he's still upright and his feet are doing some serious kicking into my nether regions. The not-so-little breech boy remains breech.
I have to have another ultrasound at 36 weeks to see if he has turned over. If he hasn't, then I have to schedule a C-section. Keep your fingers and toes crossed that that doesn't happen.