7 weeks, 6 days

Today I have been mostly worrying.

I feel scared sometimes. I'm afraid that I'm making it up and I'm not really pregnant. Or I am really pregnant and the baby isn't going to survive. Or I'm pregnant with 3 babies, but they're actually aliens. Or boys. Or boy aliens. (I want a daughter! I have sisters, I can cope with girls. Boys scare me).

There's so little external evidence. It's too early for a bump. My bust might be bigger, but that might just look like Christmas weight gain or a particularly effective bra. I don't feel sick, just tired. My stomach muscles are periodically unhappy. Yesterday, whenever I stood up from my office chair, my stomach muscles hurt, as if they'd been awkwardly scrunched. Today, I'd made an effort to sit properly and things are better, but I suspect I need a better chair to work in. Mine doesn't go high enough or allow me to adjust the angle of the seat.

Tomorrow I have blood tests. On Friday I see a midwife. I'm not sure to what extent she (or I suppose he, but I've never met a male midwife) will be my midwife. There's a team. Or I might end up being looked after by a specialist midwife once the haematology clinic* see me.

There are many things that could go wrong. Many points from step 0: get pregnant, step 1: stay pregnant, step 1a: grow a healthy baby, step 2: give birth. Not to mention beyond the birth, when we get sent home with a live little person and we have to look after it.

I try to confine my thinking to possible risks and sensible solutions. I tell myself to turn the worries to prayers. Sometimes I do. More than that, I need to stop worrying, trust God. That has never been an easy thing to do, no matter how often the Bible tells me to. But I am powerless. Beyond putting sensible food into my body and making sure it gets enough rest and exercise, my baby's development is out of my hands now. Mysterious and mundane, foetal development will happen, or, sad possibility, cease, with no conscious input from me. The knitting together in my womb is not carried out by my hands.

*A blood clot, nearly 4 years now, means I need anti-coagulants. I'm 'high risk', technically. No super fluffy midwife-led birthing unit for me, never mind a home birth. This makes me a little sad. I think Rob is relieved.