I've finally hit one of the smaller milestones that the neonatal doctors like to see when you're on antepartum. Twenty-six weeks! At twenty-four or twenty-five they smile a little and say things like, "Well, the survival rates aren't so bad. . ." and then proceed to tell you not to go into labor for a couple more weeks. At twenty-six they start sounding a little more cheerful about your baby's prospects. I imagine that when we hit twenty-eight they might actually throw a party for me. But I need to remember not to get ahead of myself. Twenty-six. My baby is at twenty-six.
I had my weekly ultrasound today and the baby looked well. The screen showed my baby in black and white, clearly using his or her little diaphragm to practice breathing motions. I am very low on fluid since I spent the last two days leaking heavily. But the doctors don't seem too concerned since babies are continually making more fluid. I haven't leaked any fluid yet today so perhaps Baby Nuevo is working on building up more reserves. Despite the positive news, I'm getting tired of going through all of these tests alone. During a normal pregnancy, I have no problems going to the prenatal appointments by myself (if going with small children is really going by yourself), but now that things have taken a downturn, I wish I could have Peter here to be with me while I wait to find out how our baby is doing. I spend so much time alone and I am pretty good at it, but there are times when I really would like to have someone hold my hand. I'm not scared, much, and I'm not worried, most of the time. But I feel the lack of the comfort Peter brings to most situations.
All that said, I'm going to enjoy the small victory that two and a half weeks in the hospital has brought me. And I'm going to knit another baby hat.