I keep thinking about that week we were off. I ate a lot to fight off queasiness, and we bought a car. Noone knew yet, except our families, and a couple of friends. It was still our secret.
We joked, talked, laughed about our baby.
Two weeks later, we saw - him? her? (it hurts that i'll never know) - on a scan. Tiny arms, legs, heart. Beating away. We went back to work, showed off our pics to our respective colleagues. We weren't quite at the 12 week mark, but we knew the odds were in our favour. Our risk of miscarriage less than 0.6%.
If the scan picks up a heartbeat and the baby appears to be the right size according to your dates, this can be very reassuring. Research has shown that if you see a heartbeat at 6 weeks of pregnancy, the chances of the pregnancy continuing are 78%. A heartbeat at 8 weeks increases the chance of a continuing pregnancy to 98% and at 10 weeks to 99.4%. So things could still go wrong, but as long as there is a heartbeat, the risk of miscarriage decreases as the weeks go by. (from here)
Ten days later. You left, but remained. It was another four whole weeks before we found out what had happened.
I want to go back.
I don't want you to be gone.