I am 17 weeks pregnant with a mysterious baby girl who decided to nestle in my belly one month before I turned 40. We found out on Christmas Day; I was just making sure I was good to drink at a family gathering when I saw the faint second line appear.
“It won’t stick,” I told my husband. We’d had six pregnancy losses in 18 months.
But she did stick, against all odds. Twenty pregnancy tests later, the infertility doctor I’d been seeing confirmed she was there with a strong heartbeat.
We feared the worst for so many weeks. Ultrasounds and NIPT testing confirmed, first of all, that she was a girl — I would’ve bet my life savings it was a boy. And secondly, despite my “advanced maternal age,” she is completely healthy and normal.
V, who was initially quite disappointed that she was not having the brother she’d asked for (“Aw man! Now we can’t be like Luke and Leia,” she lamented after learning the gender), is very happy and talks to the baby every day, asking very weird questions such as “How are you even eating and drinking in there?”
I realized I hadn’t been here in a while, and knowing a maternity leave and slowing down are in my future, I am really looking forward to being here again. ❤️