Can ya hear my heartbeat?

In my 13^th week I went in for my full history and first real OB exam with my new doctors. Afterward, the midwife sat while I asked every question I could think of, most of which involved whether or not I could dye my hair or use my regular facewash. You know, the important things. The best part was I got to hear my baby’s heartbeat! It sounded great, and the midwife said it was very easy to find, which made me feel like an overachiever.

I left with an appointment set for 6 weeks later. SIX WEEKS. I hadn’t gone longer than 10 days without seeing a doctor or specialist thus far into my pregnancy. How would I even know if I was still pregnant in 6 weeks?!

My aunt recommended I rent a fetal heart monitor online. I thought about it, but decided that this would just be giving in to my fears. Women spent thousands of years not knowing if they were pregnant until the baby popped out. I could make it six weeks.

The day after my first OB visit was a Friday and I went on the daily adventure with the dogs. We leashed up and I decided to walk them to the right instead of the left. They were immediately a little confused but so thrilled to be on a walk (because they hadn’t walked on leashes in nearly 24 hours) that they didn’t care. We made it about 20 yards before a truck started pulling out of a driveway. I stopped and waited and as the truck pulled out, a man got out to close a giant metal gate behind the truck. Based on Charlie’s reaction, I can only assume he was once attacked by a metal gate. He ran behind me so fast that it spooked Bella, who quickly followed him. Their two leashes wrapped perfectly around my ankles in a criss cross, yanked my arms behind me (because the leashes were attached to my wrists), and swept my legs out and away while I splatted face first onto, you guessed it, my stomach (and chest, and face). I immediately whipped around to see that both dogs were still attached to me. And in the next breath I said to myself, “Oh crap, I’m pregnant and I just landed on my stomach.” In the next second, the idiot who was standing less than 10 feet from me shouted “Ya’lright?” from the gate. He never even offered me a hand. I slowly got myself up and walked home with leash-burned wrists, sore knees, and a questionable feeling in my stomach.

After much deliberation (Am I that girl if I call? Will I look back and regret it if I don't?), I finally decided to call my doctor. The office closed about 15 minutes after I got back home, which meant that I would have to speak with an on-call doctor. I left a message with the on-call service and waited by the phone.

About 10 minutes later, James Earl Jones called. I’m not positive it was him, and I never knew he was a doctor, but I began speaking with a man whose voice was so deep it made my crystal glasses rattle. He assured me I was probably fine but that I should call my doctor on Monday to schedule an appointment. Wow. Talk about What-If Monsters all weekend long.

On Monday, the nurse at my doctor’s office assured me that I was fine but offered me an appointment to come in and listen to the baby’s heart beat. I thought for a second a politely declined. I hung up and immediately ordered a rental fetal heart monitor, which shipped in 24 hours for free. I walked straight into my room and listened to the little peanut’s heart beating away.