Yeah, you read that right. In today’s world of struggling to get pregnant, visiting fertility clinics like those at Gurnee location, the time of super prenatal care and ultrasounds at 7 weeks pregnant and fertility and period app trackers, I have no flipping clue how old this fetus (embryo?) is inside my uterus. Could be 8 weeks. Could be 9 weeks. Could be nearly 12 weeks. Why the confusion? Glad you asked.
Let’s get technical for a second, because I know all of you love to talk about a woman’s time of the month. For whatever reason, doctors measure the age of the fetus based on the first day of your last menstrual period. So by the time you are “late” for your next period, you are already considered 4-5 weeks pregnant.
Got it? Kay.
So I took a pregnancy test when I was less than 1 week late. Whoopie, it came out positive! It was also one of those nifty fancy digital tests that tells you how long it’s been since conception. Mine said 1-2 weeks. Based on this test alone, we’ve introduced a 1-2 week differential in the possible dates. (If I were measuring according to my period dates, the test would have said 3 weeks.)
Got it? There’s more.
Then I go to the ultrasound appointment, which was scheduled based on the first day of my last…you know what? I’m sick of saying period, so let’s go with the super scientific word thingy. I was supposed to be nearly 8 weeks along, a time when you fully expect to see an embryo and a heartbeat and all that jazz. Doctor saw a great big fat nothing and thought perhaps I would be suffering another miscarriage. Swell.
Cue emotional hell for 1-and-a-half weeks while I waited to go back to the doctor and redo the ultrasound to be sure. Lo and behold, there was the little bean with its heartbeat, except it was measuring in at only 6-7 weeks (when I should have been 9 weeks at that point).
Following so far? Now we’re talking a three-week differential. What’s also fun about this is that it potentially tacks on THREE ADDITIONAL WEEKS to my pregnancy. You know how much being pregnant sucks? You know how much being pregnant for an extra fucking three weeks sucks? You know how much being pregnant for an extra fucking three weeks in the first trimester sucks?
IT SUCKS. And I know, I know. Technically it’s not like this extends the length of my pregnancy for real, but in a way it does. That means that I basically found out I was pregnant about a minute after I actually became pregnant, and have been doing, or rather NOT DOING, all the stuff pregnant women should be doing since then.
You know what else is fun about this three-week differential? I’m not sure when this baby’s going be born! I also love explaining to people that I *think* I’m 9 weeks along and then they openly stare at my already growing bump and wonder why I’ve told everyone already when it’s so soon. Because I thought I’d be heading into my second trimester by now? Because you see that belly? It’s not because I’m getting fat. Because I feel like it.
In a couple weeks I will return to the doctor for another ultrasound, at which point they hope to be able to zero in on the due date for me a bit more accurately. But in the meantime, all this uncertainty is driving me nuts. So the next time you see me and ask, “So how far along are you?” and I give you crazed goat-devil eyes, you will know why.
The Olive Gal
green of skin, black of heart
