Well hello, Peanut

It was too busy at work to sneak the ultrasound for a peek. Luckily the lovely nurses at the IVF clinic where I get my progesterone fix are kind enough to get me an ultrasound, purely for 'peace of mind'. So Monday sees us nervously 'assuming the position' (ie me, revealing belly and top line of pubic hair to an ultrasonographer we have only just met, T perched nervously in the 'partner chair') in the ultrasound suite.

And there, on the screen, oh my God, a beating heart. And the rest of a normal 9 week pregnancy. I start laughing with relief and the image jumps up and down. The ultrasonographer dopplers out 175 beats per minute- fine for this age. I look at the screen and say, hey 23mm, that's like a jelly bean. The ultrasonographer, bless her, says, no, more like a peanut, in the shell.

So now we have not a Speck, but a Peanut. The Peanut has limbs, eyelids, an upper lip, retinas, and most organs. By tomorrow, my 'Langman's Medical Embryology' tells me Peanut's limbs will be elongated and Peanut will look "more humanlike". Peanut moves by itself- we saw it moving around on the scan, waving its little limbs and nodding. So it already takes after its father- the mosh pit of life awaits!

Tomorrow will mark 10 weeks. We have never made it to double figures before. Every day I am expecting to be the last. Every time I pee, I expect to see blood. I have taken to wearing liners so that i could see the least speck of blood.

I would love to be able to just relax and take this pregnancy easy, to look forward to February without a qualifying "... if we make it that far...". But I doubt I ever will, especially having chosen Obstetrics as an anaesthetic subspecialty. Just this last week I have anaesthetised women with all manner of obstetric badness. I looked at the weakly crying 30-week old being rushed off to NICU and thought "what if...".

This is the additional burden of the subfertile, I guess. To never be able to live in the blissful carelessness of those with exactly the same number of Gs as Ps. My friend H eats soft cheese and drinks wine. She still excercises to the point of exhaustion. She talks about the end of her pregnancy as a fait accompli. I envy her freedom.