Big day tomorrow.

Well, as the title says, it's a big day tomorrow - all being well, we get to see LO for the first time and to confirm my dates. I'm vacillating between nervous excitement and nausea-inducing terror. If LO's little heart is beating (not TOO little, mind you - all four chambers would be nice...) then I can relax a bit about the miscarriage risk. Not totally, mind you, but a bit. But then I have to start really worrying about all the other potential problems that could be brewing. And if there's no heartbeat? Well. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I was sick as a dog again this morning though, which is quite reassuring, because I wasn't sick at all with the baby I miscarried. It just feels scary to be getting back onto the hospital bandwagon - it all starts to feel real now. While hardly anybody knows, I can just keep pottering along, and pretending that I'm not really pregnant. But once I'm 'in the system' - it all starts to really hit home. I still have no desire to tell everybody what's happening. Only four of my closest friends know - two are fellow heart mums - but that's it. I'm itching to tell Charlie - I know he'll be so excited, but it's a long time for him to wait without knowing what's going to happen to his baby after it's born. I think we'll probably tell him when we go on holiday - I'll be 17 weeks then, and we'll be having the big anomaly scan a week or so later. That's assuming I haven't ballooned to the size of a small continent by then - hopefully I can convince him I've just eaten too many pies. I haven't told my mum yet. Part of me really wants to, but I know how desperately worried she will be, and I just want to spare her the worry and fear for as long as I can. She - and we - have been through so much over the past couple of years, and I'm so very conscious that this time round, she doesn't have my dad to lean on for support, and stubborn assertions that all will be well. I miss my dad so, so much. Every night as I turn off the light by his photo in the living room, I whisper how much I miss him, and ask him, if there's any way he can, to look after this new little baby of ours. I know that Dad used to pray for all of us, by name, every night, and he would also pray for our, as yet unconceived, future children - that they might be healthy. I know it sounds terribly irreverent, but I feel like Dad's got an even more direct line to the Almighty these days, so maybe he might be able to put in a word or two on our behalf. I so wish Dad was still here. The pain of knowing that he isn't really doesn't seem to get any better, however much time passes.

I'll let you know how we get on in the morning.

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