If I weren’t pregnant, this week would have sucked, and I would have been convinced that some sort of parasite had taken over my body and was ravaging it of my appetite and energy. If you haven’t been pregnant, it’s so hard to explain being so hungry that the mere smell of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich can make you gag into the tub, especially when said sandwich sounded perfect minutes before. My body gets angry when I eat something that isn’t processed, simple food, which astounds me, because I haven’t eaten that way since high school. This progesterone slowing everything down is serious business!

As it is, any and all symptoms thrill me, so while running to the bathroom to relieve my stomach of everything and nothing isn’t fabulous, I really did it with a smile. I feel a bit like a masochist, but every time I feel like crap, I feel wonderful–it reassures me that something is clicking along in there.

Given that, on Monday, I woke up feeling amazing. I was terrified. Who knew that finally feeling good could be cause for alarm? Anyway, after being in turmoil for a few hours about feeling good, no less, I called the doctor and they got me in an hour later. I was half in tears on the way, certain that this was the end. I kept trying to tell myself to stop, that there was nothing to grieve yet. It was excruciating.

The doctor came in, checked for bleeding (none!), then used the Doppler. She found the heartbeat within three seconds. With the losses, I never heard the heartbeat. I didn’t know what to listen for. She started beaming and asked if I could hear it. I heard something, but I didn’t know what, but then it took on the token rhythm, and all the muscle tension I had been carrying for seven whole weeks miraculously floated away.

Everything was okay. More than okay. I still haven’t had an ultrasound, and I’m relieved that there wasn’t cause for one on Monday, and I’m already counting down the days to when I get to hear the heartbeat again next Friday at my actual appointment. I spent the next few minutes in a sort of euphoria despite having even more blood drawn–the Geek was in the waiting room, completely on edge, watching every time that door opened, expecting a grim me. He didn’t get that. I think that was the first time we really allowed ourselves to think that this could be viable. I had refused to think about names, but we had fun bouncing some around that night. This is exactly what I wanted. I’m able to relax with my visiting family and comfortably make plans for our move. I didn’t have that Monday morning, and it’s indescribable how good it feels to have that now.

This is the furthest we’ve ever gotten. I’ll be 10 weeks Sunday.

And, yes, the nausea came back with a vengeance Tuesday. Sometimes a good day is just that–one good day. Bring on the second trimester!