Here's my first thought on luck: I don't believe in it.
That is, I don't believe in 'wishing' on things, or looking for signs, or rubbing rabbits' feet, or jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. If by 'luck,' you mean that some things in life happen randomly, then yes; I can agree with that. But most of the time, 'lucky' means something else.
I especially hate the idea of 'bad luck' - that, for example, it's unlucky to walk under a ladder, or have a black cat cross your path, or any of the other million silly things that are supposed to impact your daily life when, in fact, they have absolutely nothing to do with what will happen to you. Nothing.
So, in short: I don't believe in luck.
But you would never guess this if you lived inside my head right now.
Yesterday, I had the NT scan. It was fantastic; everything looked just fine, baby measuring right on target, and unlike the blurry gummy-bear/vaguely-peanut-shaped images of the last two ultrasounds, this one was clearly a baby. Two arms, two legs, brain, nose, stomach and bladder (I'll take the tech's word on those), kicking and moving around. Awesome.
So, now I've had three perfectly wonderful ultrasounds, I'm still throwing up like it's a freaking Olympic sport, I can't wear my pants anymore without the Be Band, I'm rapidly outgrowing my bras (a highlight for a normally small-chested girl) - it's all pointing in the right direction. And did I mention that I don't believe in luck? Good or bad?
Then why, why, why do I persist in feeling like telling people about this baby is bad luck? Like my letting the news out of my mouth somehow erases a level of protection my silence provides? It's ridiculous. I know this. But I can't quite stop myself. My husband started painting the bedroom we'll use for the baby, because the guy needed a project - and I think it helps him feel more involved - and it took all the energy I had not to run upstairs and yell, "but it's too early! You're tempting fate! Don't paint yet!" On the other hand, if he doesn't start painting at some point, I'll be in labor shouting, "don't paint yet! Just wait a little longer! Don't push your luck!"
My husband is quite rightly insisting that we have to tell people at some point. I've talked to quite a few women lately, and it sounds like it's a relatively common thing, that the husband wants to tell much earlier than the wife does (or, the not-pregnant partner wants to tell earlier than the pregnant one). As of right now, the plan is to let out the news to the rest of our families after my OB appointment next Monday, and then tell my congregation by letter early the following week.
I'm a little excited about this. Mostly, I'm terrified.
I keep feeling that relaxing about this pregnancy will doom it. And I know this is not true. I'm working on it.
One of these days, this blog will about more than just my neurotic freak-outs. Hopefully soon.