A daughter

If everything goes well, I will be holding a baby girl in my arms in another five-ish months. We went to the doctor yesterday and got to see our little Spud, a girl we have named Adelle, stubbornly trying to hide herself. She got herself all curled up, not interested in our attempts to check her out. It is ok, precious girl, after our appointment with the perinatalogist in a couple of weeks I hope we don't have to take anymore sneak peeks at you. I hope to leave you to grow in peace and quiet until that day in June when you decide to make your appearance.

And that is what we are left with now, because that is the only thing that can get us through these precarious days- hope. Hope that she won't have the antigen. Hope that the amnio goes smoothly. Hope that if she does have the antigen, she can be a strong girl and hang in there until it is ok for her to be born. What else can we do?

But hope doesn't necessarily banish the anxiety that lurks below. I try not to indulge myself, but sometimes it boils up. And the what-ifs crash over me: what if she has the antigen? what about all the sonograms? what if she is severely effected? the cord transfusions? a premature baby? what if she dies? And all I can go back to is hope. Because I am wildly powerless in this situation. Motherhood is one huge exercise in hope.

So for now, I will appreciate that I have this precious girl inside me, kicking and growing. And hope.