All right–that was an interesting experience. I went to my first OB appointment feeling somewhat self-conscious. I held in my hand paperwork that stated that I was clueless how long I had been pregnant and that this pregnancy “wasn’t exactly” planned. But, uh, with this being our sixth. Well, yeah. I know how it happens and all. Trust me. We don’t need to go there.

And she didn’t. The nurse actually made no comment on that whole section and instead told me how research showed that with the combined number of years I had breastfed my children, my chances of getting breast cancer were slight.

I decided I liked the nurse, even if I was waiting somewhat anxiously for her to stab me in the arm and steal my blood.

She didn’t even make any comment about me turning down all the extra testing.

Then she pulled out the wheel of fortune and spun it a few times to tell me when my projected due date would be. Mid-December. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think those things were very accurate when you figured it based on when I took the test. Most nurses figure it, well, on other measures I won’t discuss in such a public forum.

But that reckoning put me at 100 weeks pregnant and that defies all reason, so she chose to judge by the date I took the test. And then ask someone who then went to see when an ultrasound could be done to date the pregnancy.

I got to see an adorable little head. Actually, a rather large head, being roughly half the size of my baby. We saw the spinal chord. We watched the little heart beat. We watched tiny little legs and arms wave about. We fell in love.

We also saw a little date on the bottom of the screen: 12 weeks, 4 days. That moved the due date up a bit. From mid-December to early November. It’s strange what a difference a month makes. I already felt overwhelmed by what-ifs.

What if John can’t make it home?

What if I have to drive an hour to the hospital on my own with five children?

What if we’re snowed in?

What if the power goes out?

But November isn’t as scary as December. This past December, we were snowed in several times and we didn’t even live in the middle of nowhere. We lived in a small town on a small highway. It was an adventure to a family whose pantry was stocked and had nowhere they needed to go.

I suppose delivering in a bathtub by the light of a pen laser would be an adventure, too, but it sounds like one of those you don’t really appreciate until years later. I don’t like those kinds of adventures as much.

At any rate, everything looks good so far. Except no twins. I’m perfectly fine with that, but it means the children are back to arguing about whether it should be a boy or a girl.

Now comes the exciting process of coming up with a name. And I’m at a total loss.