Today I'm 20 weeks pregnant. There's a certain thrill that comes from knowing that I can now start counting down instead of counting up. Not that I will, at least not just yet. Saying "20 weeks to go!" doesn't sound all that exciting. But 20 weeks is a definite milestone, and I'm excited about it.
Last Sunday, I felt some weird cramping that was timeable and contraction-like. I called the midwife on-call, expecting her to say that I should come to the hospital, that they'd monitor the contractions, that there would be a multitude of miracle drugs that they could give me to stop the contractions and make sure that my baby stayed put. In our discussion, I was surprised to learn that they couldn't have women come to labor and delivery at all until they were 20 weeks along and that, if I needed to be seen, it would be in the ER. Furthermore, I learned that the only benefit to going in to the hospital at all would be to test if I had bacterial vaginosis that was causing the contractions, and to perhaps be reassured (through doppler or ultrasound) that the baby was still alive. This also surprised me, since it hadn't even occurred to me that the reason for the contractions might be that the baby was no longer alive. I had heard the heartbeat at a midwife appointment only two days earlier and so the notion of a second trimester miscarriage wasn't even in my head.
So twenty weeks marks an important milestone for me. For one thing, it means that from this point forward if I ever need to be seen in the hospital for something that might be pregnancy-related (or even not pregnancy-related, but something that could affect the pregnancy, such as the food poisoning incident that I had while pregnancy with Greta), I can go to L&D instead of to the ER. This is hugely reassuring, since it is particularly strange to experience pregnancy-related symptoms that might be worth checking out, but not be able to see my midwives.
It also is somehow, perhaps in a way that is more macabre than most of my thoughts, reassuring to have passed the point at which a pregnancy loss would no longer be called a miscarriage, but instead a stillbirth. It's not a thought that I like to dwell on, but it's there. I have a particular dislike of the term "miscarriage" to begin with, and the thought that I could be 19 weeks and 4 days pregnant (as I was on Sunday) and still suffer the same "category" of loss as I did at 11 weeks and 1 day pregnant was rather disturbing, especially since the same loss, experienced only 3 days later, would carry a completely different term.
So yes, while I am excited to be at the 20 week mark for all kinds of normal pregnant-lady reasons, I'm also feeling reassured by this milestone on a strange and different level. It's important to pass these milestones, especially when -- pregnancy-wise -- very little is changing in a positive way from day to day.
Unfortunately, although it is getting harder to sleep and I am getting sudden and horrible sciatica this week, little Piccola isn't giving me many reasons to feel confident in this pregnancy's progression. Mainly, she is being very cryptic in her movements. While we can hear plenty of movement on the doppler, I am feeling almost none of it. I had been under the impression, around 11 weeks, that I was feeling flutters. But since then those flutters haven't developed into anything more pronounced and, in fact, have become less frequent. This is a scary thing and, as a result, I am still going to the midwives for reassurance appointments and heartbeat checks every two weeks. With Greta, I was feeling pronounced kicks and jabs at this point. But with Piccola, I am still not convinced that I have experienced a true "quickening" yet. I am eager to find out the location of my placenta at my ultrasound on Monday. I am assuming that it is anterior this time around, and hoping that this doesn't mean I will have to wait another month or so before I feel distinct movement. I am definitely ready for this baby to make her presence known.
