Today we heard a heartbeat. We watched our tiny little baby flickering on the screen and listened to its song – a hymn of horses marching. The sweetest march. My husband grabbed my hand, and I watched his eyes light up in wonder.

I’m measuring 6+1 and the baby’s heart was beating at 111 bpm. From what I can find online, this is within the normal range. Also I requested a beta yesterday (because I am a paranoid lunatic), which came back at a whopping 40,598. I haven’t seen any spotting since Friday, and the morning sickness is coming on strong.

So, it’s safe to say, I’m feeling positive. Things are looking good. We’ll be telling the family in person tomorrow, and I couldn’t be more thankful.



No, no, no. Not again. This can’t be happening.

I stared at the tissue paper, at that thing I’ve been dreading, cold terror rising up from my belly.

A spot of brown.

Right as my husband returned from a week-long business trip. I had spent my week exuberantly upbeat, and had even finally weaned myself from test-taking. I was confident – no spotting, no cramping, no bad signs. I couldn’t wait to throw my arms around him and celebrate our joy.

And there it was, casually, sickeningly, devilishly  – that unmistakable spot.

I greeted my husband home ten minutes later with panic in my eyes. He held me, we held each other, in fear.

I was up all night in bed, unable to sleep, waiting for the cramping. Just waiting for the miscarriage to kick in. But I didn’t feel much. Some little aches and pains here and there, in odd places, but nothing like the torso-clenching cramps of my earlier losses.

Today there has been no more spotting. I called my RE who seemed nonplussed.

“That’s quite common at six weeks. Your placenta is growing, things are changing, it’s nothing to worry about.”

I requested to move my ultrasound from next Monday (Nov 30) to this Wed  (Nov 25). I had planned to announce to my family at Thanksgiving and felt that I needed the reassurance of a visible sac, and (oh please, please) maybe even a heartbeat.

Meanwhile today I had my first bout of nausea, right on schedule, at six weeks exactly. I am sipping ginger ale as I type. I can only take this as a positive sign.

I really hope the spotting was caused by irritation from the progesterone, or some normal process, but I can’t help feeling paranoid and terrified. I take solace in the fact that none of my other miscarriages started with blood – they started with cramping, and lightening lines, followed by blood. Also, I have never ever spotted on progesterone – that has always happened after I stopped the suppositories.

So, I’m hoping this is something different.

I’m clinging to that hope. And dreading Wednesday.



I have officially made it through the three week wait! I believe today I have reached that unattainable milestone: I am 5 weeks pregnant.

For the first time in 5 pregnancies.


This morning we took Moose to the park as we always do. It’s a crisp, endlessly clear sort of day. My handsome husband chucked a tennis ball for my handsome black lab. I wrapped my arms around that big hunk of a man and he kissed the top of my head. We stood there for a moment, wrapped around each other in the cool sunlight, watching Moose bound gleefully towards us.

And the world was perfect.

Nervous Joy

Things are going well.

It’s hard to even write those words, as I’m such a nervous mess. But, things are going as well as I could possibly hope for.

Here are the numbers:

Friday (13 dpo): 44
Monday (16 dpo): 280!!
Wednesday (18 dpo): 560

And here are my beautiful lines:


I wish I could say that I was experiencing pure, unbridled joy, but I’m still just so riddled with worry. Our first ultrasound is Nov 30, and I will do my best to relax until then.

From an HCG perspective, this is the farthest I’ve ever made it. I made it to 175 for the first before my numbers crashed down. From a “number of days I’ve received positive, darkening tests” I am also the farthest along as I’ve ever been – seven. My previous record was six.

I am so nervous and yet: my heart just melts into a puddle as my husband touches my belly, and smiles at me, and I can see the little flames of joy flickering in his eyes.

Come on, little baby. You can do it.

All we’re hoping for

Today, I am pregnant.

I had almost given up. I tested starting at what I thought was 8 dpo, up until 12 dpo. That night I got into bed without taking progesterone, ready to let my body move on. I lay coldly under the covers, shivering, trying failingly to sleep, but a tinge of doubt crept into my mind. Maybe just one more day?

I got out of bed and took the progesterone.

In the morning, I watched in wonder as a line began to appear. Thinking perhaps I had line eyes, I took Moose out for a walk. When I returned, there was a clear line. Holy hell.

This morning, the line was MUCH darker:


Today, I am pregnant.

We’ll go day by day now, cautiously, falteringly, delicately. We’ll try not to hope too much as – secretly – it’s all we’re really hoping for.