Tiny Dancer

It started with the flu then turned into a cold then became vomiting three days before I could miss my period. We took the first test five days early. It was negative. I cried.

Then it was the day my period was due and I’m fudging my way through my French final in the seat closest to the door in case I have to flee to the bathroom to throw up. I couldn’t remember anything I’d studied and barely cared that I might screw over my 4.0. All I could think was, “I’m pregnant. No, I can’t be pregnant. Am I pregnant? Nuh-uh. There’s no way I’m pregnant.”

I’m pregnant.

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They had trouble finding the heartbeat with the doppler at my nine week visit. I’d told myself that was possible; I’d read it a dozen times. I didn’t truly start to panic until the midwife began to ask questions like, “are you sure you’ve got the timing right?” They’d asked that last time, right before they laid a consoling hand on my foot and said, “I’m afraid this isn’t a viable pregnancy.” Then she palpated my uterus and added to my agony the words, “your uterus is enlarged but not nine weeks enlarged.” I could feel what was left of my courage melting into the exam bed and leaking out my eyes.

As they’re rolling in the ultrasound, I’m fighting through the flashbacks, trembling and deep breathing so I don’t hyperventilate. They found the baby quickly. As they’re zooming in, I’m waiting and hoping for them to say it.

“I see a heartbeat.”

I lost it. I was choking and crying. My husband whipped out his phone to video it for me so I could see the heartbeat blip on the screen, because every time I moved they lose sight of the baby.

Just as he hit record they all gasped and began to coo, “the baby moved.”

I’d been calling him a little tyrant because of how incredibly sick I’d been, but he changed my mind with that one little twitch. I felt like he was saying, “I’m fine Mommy. Now tell these people to stop pressing that thing down on me. I’m trying to sleep dammit.” In fact, the more I watch the video, the more it looks like he’s batting away the sound waves and rolling over to get away from the camera. Sassy little mite.

Here he is. My tiny dancer, with a heartbeat.

Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she’s in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

Hold me close now tiny dancer
~ Tiny Dancer, Elton John

Cuddle close, my sweet tiny dancer. Mommy and Daddy love you so much already. ❤

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DISCLAIMER: I’ve been calling the baby “he” but we don’t yet know gender. Just in case you’re reading this as a family member and decide to prematurely buy him a “Mommy’s Little Man” onesie, there is still a 50% chance she will look funny wearing it. 😉

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23 thoughts on “Tiny Dancer”

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