I'm not sure what happened to week 10. I know I was feeling great. By week 11 I had so much energy back that I actually voluntarily spent some time off of the couch. I moved the saltines from my bedside table, as they were no longer a prerequisite to getting out of bed without puking. It was awesome!
I don't think I'm supposed to be feeling this good yet. What if something is WRONG? Surely the whole sick-as-a-very-sick-dog thing is supposed to last up until the official end of the first trimester, which is still weeks away?
Week 11 turned me into a crazy paranoid person, wishing for the sickness to come back just for the reassurance.
Week 12 was also terrible in that I still felt entirely too good. Cue late-night crazed googling of "missed miscarriage 12 weeks" and "loss of pregnancy symptoms". It turns out that these are extremely frequently googled phrases. If you ever find yourself in need of googling these words, you will be in the company of pages and pages of other women. Of course when the women continue on to have adorable fat little babies, they don't come back to update you. But the few that were justified in their worrying? They write prolifically about it. Seriously, pregnant women, step away from The Google.
It didn't help that the week 12 pictures shows my stomach at it's flattest, like, ever. Of course, if I just would have checked out my chins I would have realized that there are, in fact, changes a'comin.
HOORAY for doctor's appointments and their reassuring awesomeness! The hubs again accompanied me to my OB's office for my twelve-week visit. I go to a group practice, and they are rotating me through all of the doctors so that I will know them all before I go into labor. They've all been great so far. Once again the doctor cut right to the good stuff and brought out the doppler so we'd get to hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time.
After all of that worry, late-night googling, and uncertainty, the fast little whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of OUR BABY's heartbeat was indescribably awesome. It actually made me feel a little bit silly too. It was just so reassuring and certain, as if the little peach was in there rolling its eyes at me and saying "look, I'm FINE, MOM" in an annoyed teenager voice. I teared up big time, hubs squeezed my hand and I fell in love with him all over again, and we were one big schmoopy family.
For the record, the heartbeat at that appointment was between 160-165 bpm. This is on the fast end, which, according to google and my mother, means I'm having a girl. According to all of that no-fun scientific research stuff, this means there is officially a 50% chance that I am having a girl.