Oh wow!
There is a living creature inside my tummy.
I’m going to refer to baby as a him for now, since we are calling him Alabaster until we settle the Gender and the name issues.

He was so cute! I know, I know, he looks like a blob, or a gummy bear, or something… But he was MOVING! He would every little bit do this adorable little dance/wriggle thing that just made me want to cry. It was amazing.
He is all well and attached, his heartbeat was 176 BPM. He was so amazing.

Overall, the appointment was about 40 minutes late, the lady was very nice. She gave us 5 pictures, told us my due date was going to be August 8th (not the 10th, like I thought it was). He is measuring at 8 weeks and 2 days, although I am at 8 weeks and 1 day. He is 1.8 CM long right now.


This post is friends only because I don’t want what is in here getting back to my family. Please keep this information to yourself.
I’ve talked before about my grandma Eve, my dad’s mom. I feel a need now to give you some back story, some understanding. I’ll get to the why at the end.
Grandma is a very interesting lady. Strong Jewish woman, focused on education, learning, and betterment of herself. My Uncle (her eldest son) married a nice Jewish woman. He came home one day to find his wife gone, along with his son (who was, I believe, around 2 or 3, but I am vague on that). Everything was gone. All his stuff, all her stuff, everything. She had apparently decided to divorce him, didn’t want him in her life, and still, to this day, does everything she can to keep her son (my cousin) away from this side of the family. I’ve never met my cousin. I know he is older than me, named Jordan, and lives on the east coast. That’s all I really know.
My grandma wasn’t thrilled when my parents got together, mom wasn’t Jewish, wasn’t rich, or in any way up to my grandmas standards. I don’t know the whole why of it. My Grandpa loved my mom. In fact, it was grandpa who told my mother that she was pregnant with me, not the other way around. Mom was complaining of feeling ill, and grandpa smiled and said, “you’re pregnant!” and he was right.
Grandpa died when I was 4, just before my little brother was born. Grandma and Grandpa had an odd relationship. They had separate beds, and didn’t agree much, but I don’t really know much, as I was so young when he died. I just know my mom didn’t like Grandma, but she did like Grandpa.
Mom says that she had to convince Grandma to want anything to do with us kids, and she had to push my dad to spend time with his brother and his mother. I was young. I don’t know the truth of it. All I know, is that practically every thanksgiving I can remember (with the exception of maybe 1 or 2 in Portland) Grandma was there.
I know grandma is a very controlling person. She likes to be in control, and I feel that she would have lived her life much differently if she had been born forty years later. I always felt like she wasn’t happy being a mom, that she wanted to focus on her career, and do things her own way. She would have been the poster child for career woman, had it been socially acceptable. But she married, and she had kids.
Grandma and I have always gotten along. She loves me, and I think I do her proud. Still, she was disappointed in me for marrying Bobby. Not because of Bobby. She absolutely loves him, and couldn’t be happier to have him in the family. It’s just that she wanted me to be what she couldn’t be. I’m the only female in her line. She had two sons. One son had a son (Jordan), who is mostly lost to us, and the other son (my dad) had Sam, and me. The only female. The “Jewish Princess.” The woman who grandma wanted to make sure didn’t make the same mistakes she made.
I want a family, as it obvious by my posts. I have wanted one for years. Its been carefully orchestrated, with everything as planned as it could be.
Grandma wants me to wait to have kids, constantly pointing out that women in their 40s have kids all the time. She always mentions how much we should wait, how it changes (she insinuates ruins) your life to have a child. I think have children may have been that way for her. Because it wasn’t what she wanted. It was what was expected.
I love her dearly. My mom HATES her. I don’t really know how my little brother feels. My uncle takes care of her. She still lives on her own, despite the fact she is almost a century old.
She was diagnosed with lymph cancer. On Thursday she went into the ER because she couldn’t breathe. The released her on Sunday, and most likely yesterday, they called her and told her the reason for her problem breathing was because the cancer has spread. Its in her lungs. She called me last night. She didn’t tell me about her health. This time, she did a complete 180, and told me how frustrated she was with Sam, and that if I need to throw him out to get my money, I should. We talked for a bit, but she didn’t bring up her health, and carefully deflected my attempts to find out how she was doing.
My uncle emailed me today and said “be patient if she seems over-anxious to perform miracles in a limited time, as her cancer has spread and she was told 3-9 mos.” That’s left to live. That’s less than a year. That is very possibly before I have my baby.
I want to tell her. I do! But I don’t want to upset her. On top of that, its still early, and she never really got over my dad dieing. I don’t know how she would take it if I had to turn around and tell her I miscarried.
I really don’t know what to do….
I’ve known for years that she was going to die soon. She’s been sick on and off, and this last time she visited, I knew she wasn’t doing well. So why haven’t I been able to stop crying since I got the news two hours ago?