All chromosomes are there, all accounted for, no extras, none missing. No breaks, no obvious translocations.
It's a boy.
I'm 14+w pregnant.
I suppose there's a somewhat humorous and interesting back story here (isn't there always?), but I'll have to sort through what I feel like mashing through and what I don't.
I guess the big thing is that I thought this would be hard. That I'd either be a) petrified, cowering in the closet, clutching my safety blanket and weeping while rocking back and forth and wishing a coma upon myself, or b) fighting off hope. DAMN YOU! GET AWAY YOU INSOLENT LITTLE SHIT! BEGONE! (Stamps foot, sprays poison, wields blowtorch.)
I'm neither. Frankly, I'm nothing. This has, to this point, been the most out-of-body experience ever. I stare at the ultrasound screen, and I might as well be watching television. They flip it off, and I ask when I need to come back. My due date has been said out loud to me a grand total of once, and thank goodness for short-term memory loss, because I've honestly forgotten. Something in May. Mid-May, I think. I function. I'm . . . nothing. I'm not pessimistic, which is good, but nor am I optimistic. I feel surprisingly fine, good even, which perhaps is significant, or maybe just evident considering I'm not moving to another state, I'm not bleeding, I've yet to visit the ER (knock wood, throw salt), and I don't have a two-year-old. I've been cleared to run, so I lace up my shoes and leave out the back door and inhale the Fall and it's like none of this is really happening.
And right now that's exactly what I need.
So . . . . no C-word please. You know the drill. We know if this works, um, sometime in May. Save the C-stuff for the first day of Kindergarten.