This pregnancy has been one of wondrous little tender mercies.
After thinking I was pregnant at the end of December and then finding out I wasn't, I basically gave up and figured it would be months before my body got itself into gear to get pregnant. My cycles have always been really irregular and I've had to take Clomid to get pregnant since Brown-Eyed Boy.
But then, sometime in the middle of February, I started to wonder if...maybe...possibly...? I didn't want to get my hopes up. I didn't want to take a pregnancy test and then be crushed when it was negative. So I prayed to Heavenly Father that if I was pregnant, to please please give me a symptom.
The very next day the morning sickness hit.
Moral of the story: be careful what you pray for.
But I was so grateful to be sick if it meant I was pregnant. In fact, when, still in my early weeks, the morning sickness started to dissipate, I began to worry. I went to my first midwife appointment terrified of miscarriage.
Toward the end of the appointment, the midwife said, "It's probably a little early, but why don't we try listening to the heartbeat?"
I agreed doubtfully. I had never heard the heartbeat before twelve weeks with either of my other children, but I figured we could give it a try.
The midwife put the Doppler probe to my belly. Immediately we heard my heartbeat, slow and methodical. She moved the probe around, then, after a moment, exclaimed, "There it is!"
I stared at her. "I don't hear anything."
She held the receiver up closer to my ear, moved the probe around some more, and suddenly, I could hear it--underneath the pound of my heart, a steady flutter, fast and strong.
Tears spilled down my face. My baby had a heartbeat. He was all right.
The Lord is mindful of us. Even in the smallest of ways. I was only eight weeks pregnant that day. It's really unusual to hear the heartbeat that early. But the Lord knew I needed reassurance, so He blessed me with that sweet, tender mercy.
And yes, I have been calling my baby a "he" all this time. And I was shocked last week to learn that "he" is actually a "she."
So much for my motherly instincts. But it's good she's not a boy, or Brown-Eyed Boy might have insisted we name her George Washington.
The girl name he picked out is much better.
Excited for baby girl #2,
The Brown-Eyed Girl