So the little alien is so small the doctor couldn't even get a clear picture of it.
It's the size of a blueberry apparently. I can't imagine such a tiny little alien shaped baby in my tummy. I'm struggling to wrap my mind around the idea.
I've reached a point in my mindset where is only positive. Only building castles. All my what-ifs are built around his/her birth. And it is liberating.
Then I get these random flashes of "Oh shoot", where I worry about how happy I am. I worry about dreaming about January.
Then I realise that I'm still conflicted. And I accept that for another 5 weeks I probably will be. But I hate it.
I hate waking up every morning wondering if today is going to be a good day or a terrible day. I hate dreaming so beautiful dreams, just for my pessimism to interrupt them with morbid thoughts.
I don't know anymore.
I don't understand my own thought process. I wonder if I'm still going to be sane when this is over.
I guess the only thing we can do, is wait and see. Even if it feels like the hardest thing to do.
All I know is, I'm grateful for every bout of nausea. I'm grateful for needing to be in bed by 19:30 every night. I'm grateful for my rollercoaster of emotions.
Because with every single sign of this pregnancy, comes more reasons to hope. More reasons to dream. More reasons to pack away my pessimism. And more reasons to be excited about what the future might bring.