We decided to tell the kids that I’m host to a very small little bean that COULD POSSIBLY become a baby. We, of course, invoked the ‘good secret’ talk: “This is a GOOD secret, the kind that is very happy-making, but is still, nevertheless, Mommy’s secret.” My older daughter sprung a leak soon after, and the news burst forth, spilling onto some of her friends whose parents, we figured, deserved better than to hear our news through their five-year-old.
So, we made a public announcement and got lots of positive, encouraging support from friends. And a few “What the fuck were you two THINKING?” responses, to which we admitted we weren’t thinking particularly fecund thoughts. That we THINK it was the sex that got us here, not the thinking.
The ultrasound tech used 20-year-old technology to see a blob in my uterus, a blob with a heartbeat. One blob. If she also saw ping pong balls or fibroids, she kept that info to herself. As soon as she got some photos, she went into another room, probably to laugh at us. 
This week, Allen and I have talked about our options for genetic testing and tests to detect Downs Syndrome. There’s a lot of emotion around these tests for me. Well, obviously there’s emotion. I’m emotional cracking pistachio nuts.
I wouldn’t be here today if my mother had listened to her doctor, who advised that she terminate her pregnancy with me because she had German measles during her first trimester. There were concerns, and preparations, for my being born with severe abnormalities.
I came into the world with the usual number of fingers and toes. The abnormal is only inside, in the strange ways in which I sculpt my own realities (and yours! mwa ha ha ha!). This is not to say that there isn’t value in getting testing done in early pregnancy. I’m sure many make that decision, and it’s a good choice for them. I’m all about choice. But I think we’re going to opt for a positive outlook and good prenatal care. Testing is fraught with emotional peril, and the results, be they positive or negative, would not change my decision to do my best to carry the little bean to term.
So, we head into week 9 with hope and a heartbeat! If only the nausea would back off, I’d be smiling!