I had the most vivid dream last night. I dreamed that we were in the hospital and I was holding our baby boy. My husband and I sat together on the hospital bed staring at our son. His face was so real. He was the perfect combination of my husband and myself. All of the nurses were in awe at how calm and happy he was. We decided to name him Walter, but called him Walt for short.
Then I woke up.
And I remembered that tomorrow is our big appointment. I pray our baby has moved, even by millimeters, into a safer position. I pray we find a heartbeat tomorrow. I pray that our baby has a chance to grow and live.
Even if we get good news tomorrow I realize we have a long road ahead of us. I have an increased risk of miscarriage and uterine rupture. I know there will be weekly appointments. I’m terrified. I’m basically spending the weekend curled up on the couch isolating myself from everyone.
All the excitement of our long awaited positive has disappeared. I’m still avoiding all things baby. I refuse to take any photos or document this pregnancy in any way. I’m even having a hard time looking at our ultrasound picture hanging on our fridge.
I thought the hardest part was behind us. But I’m realizing that we’re still living in it.