When we got back to the States in January, one of the first things I did was send Rusty out to buy a home pregnancy test. At that point, I was about 99% sure I was pregnant, but you can't just walk into a store in Portugal and buy a pregnancy test. You have to go to the pharmacy and ask for one at the counter as if it's a pack of cigarettes! So, I decided just to wait until we went back. I think I was also in denial that I was actually pregnant. Maybe if I don't take the test, I won't really be pregnant. Okay, so I was also irrational. Keep in mind that this pregnancy was unplanned... we hadn't even decided if we were going to try to have another baby ever, and certainly not now with our move to Angola looming ever closer.
Sure enough, the test was positive, so I made an appointment to see my OB while we were in Michigan. I was exactly seven weeks pregnant when I went in, so I wasn't expecting to get an ultrasound, as they typically don't do one that early on unless there is some sort of problem. But after she examined me, she said, "Are you sure about your dates? Because your uterus seems to be pretty large for being only seven weeks pregnant." At which point I literally started hyperventilating, thinking to myself Oh, my gosh, the only thing worse than being pregnant right now, would be being pregnant with twins. I might have a nervous breakdown right here in her office and the nice men in white coats will come to take me away to the nuthouse...
So, she sends me for an ultrasound... tech says everything looks great... I hear the heartbeat... I tell her to make extra sure there's only one baby in there... she says yes, just one... I say, "Are you sure? Because twins run in both our families..." she says "Yes, absolutely, there's only one." Whew. "The twin scare that wasn't," that's what I like to call it. Suddenly, having just one baby seems doable after all.
Seven weeks pregnant.
Eleven weeks pregnant.