14 weeks

When I had my ultrasound at my former lousy gynecologist a week ago, she estimated my pregnancy at 11 or 12 weeks along. Somehow, I knew she was wrong.

It's 13 weeks, I told my boyfriend. I know it.

Of course, I fell down the slippery slope of worry and what-if over the next few days, contemplating what I would do if I was 16 weeks, 18 weeks. What if my period in December was a fluke? My boyfriend would reassure me, set me straight, I'd look at the calendar, count the weeks, Google pregnancy symptoms and feel my growing belly, and I'd still say to myself, It's more than 12. It's 13.

Turns out I was exactly right.

When we met with the nurse yesterday, she informed me that my new ultrasound put me at 13 weeks and 6 days yesterday. Today, Thursday, one week after that first ultrasound, puts me at exactly 14 weeks.

"You knew, didn't you?" she said in that isn't-the-body-amazing voice. (I had mentioned to one of the now-faceless nurses who did my ultrasound, took my vitals and talked with me, that I had doubted my OB/GYNE's dating.)

"I guess so," I said, completely bewildered. I did know. How did I know? I didn't know for three fucking months that I was pregnant and suddenly I can pinpoint to the day my progress?

If I count backwards, that means we conceived the night of my birthday celebration. For all the WTF, fucked-up-ness of this entire scenario--getting pregnant while menstruating, I suppose this kind of makes sense. Looks like the boyfriend and I really know how to throw a party.

But it was reassuring to hear that I am not further along than that. It's still awful, and it still feels like a nightmare, but it puts to rest my irrational concerns.