His name is Davin Carroll.

On October 3rd, 2008, I found out he was alive inside of me.

I was surprised.

I sent my husband this photograph in an email with the subject line, “Ready to rumble?”

The body of the email said, “Here comes the fear, do-do-do-do….”

I was scared.

But also, I was cautiously happy.

Before long, I was full of hope. And dreams. And the future.

My last pregnancy had ended in miscarriage at 5 weeks.

The 5 week mark came and went. Trumpets blew inside my heart.

On October 18th, 2008, I had morning sickness for the first time. I have never been so happy to feel so sick.

I turned my arms within and held my baby a little closer, starting to believe I could hold on to that sweetness forever.

On November 10th, 2008, I saw him on a fuzzy, mini-ultrasound.

I saw his heart beating. And that was it. I Believed. He could make it.

We called him Fuzzball.

I thought one day I would be rubbing his head, calling him that.

I began showing.  It felt glorious.

On November 24th, 2008, I heard his heart beating. It was vigorous.

In spirit, I jumped over the moon, grabbed a star, and brought it back to earth with me.  It glowed inside of me.

Up until the end, I thought he was a girl. Maybe that is because, at a time when I felt like I was filled with snips and snails, he filled me with sugar instead. And spice.

And everything nice.

On December 9th, 2008 I found out he had died.

Everything nice scattered in the wind so quickly.

I saw him on a high quality ultrasound that day. He looked beautiful to me. I wish I could see him again.

I was too shaken up to ask for a print of the image. I regret that so much.

I have a pile of things – a pregnancy test, papers, armbands, photographs.  They’re just material things.  They are cold.  They do not kick me in the stomach.  They will never smile at me or hug my neck.  But I look at them; I touch them.

I think of him.

On December 16th, 2008, people I hardly knew removed him from my body by way of a cold, surgical procedure. His body was sent for testing.

He was considered biological material.

Biological material. He did not have a name then. He was labeled “the product of conception.” They cultured his cells in a lab.

Davin had Trisomy 13.

I could write a whole essay on this alone, but that will come later.

I wanted to find a boy’s name I liked that meant “Hope.”

Even though I feel very little of it right now, I wanted to name him after the thing I thought I had lost forever, but which he gave me in surplus, even for such a brief time, without receiving anything in return.

Hope

And which, I know, will return in time. In part because he taught me that it’s okay to hope again even after you think it’s impossible.

Hope

Even if it hurts. Because it tells you that you are alive. And that you want to keep living. And that you believe that each day can be new if you can just let that come back to you.

Hope

Instead, we named him Davin, which means “Beloved.”

Forever he will be.

I miss him so.

“She” is currently midget-like, apparently.

When I showed off Fuzzball the other day, I didn’t mention “her” measurements. (We’ll come back to the “her” thing). The doctor informed me that she took measurements and they date the baby at 8weeks and 2 days (as of last Monday, 11.10.08).

Which is off, thank you very much, based on the “automatic” calculations done for pregnancy length based on first day of last period. According to that, the baby was about 9weeks and 1 day. It’s also off based on when I felt myself ovulate, September 19.

Ladies, can you feel it when you ovulate? Ever since the miscarriage, I felt it more precisely than ever before, complete with what’s called “Mittelschmerz.” There was actually a pain in the ovary that was releasing the egg, and I could feel it very distinctly.

On September 19, I was grocery shopping alone, getting really annoyed at the “mittelschmerz” pain while I tried to walk around grabbing food. John and I had sex before that day, not after (sorry for the TMI) so conception probably occurred on that day. Which would date the gestation at 7weeks 3 days on 11.10.08 – or with the arbitrary 2 weeks they add for your “Pregnancy,” we were at 9 weeks 3 days.

But she said the baby measured 8 weeks 2 days.

SO, they’re dating my kid a full week younger than I’m pretty darn sure she is, just based on size. Which I think is kind of weird. But to me it just means she’s small for age. And I’m hoping that’s okay.

Oh, and I’m measuring approximately “Fat As Hell” so far. I’m not even into the second trimester yet, but the growing uterus has pushed out all my old Muffin-Top Fat so I am nice and Poochy already.

Here’s a much too graphic photo of my midsection. Like my underwear? Yeah, baby, I live for TMI.

About the “her” and “she” thing – that’s just the feeling I have. I’ve felt that it’s a girl ever since very early in the pregnancy, and I have no really strong scientific reasons why I feel that way – it’s just a “feeling.”

Things that other people would point to for “proof” would be:

• sex several days before ovulation is more likely to result in a girl than a boy.  Supposedly, Boy Sperm swim faster, but Girl Sperm are stronger and live longer.
• Heart-rate over 140 is more likely to be a girl (the heart-rate was 180).  Oops, this is actually false, but is a popular myth.  There is actually no correlation between heart-rate and gender.  A boy is just as likely to have a heart-rate of 180!

Regardless, I automatically think “she” when I refer to the baby and it’s not because of anything in particular that I can describe or explain to you. It’s just… because.  I know, I’m being incredibly scientific and highly persuasive here, right?  Oh well.

I’ll let you you know after the 20 week ultie.

And if “she” has a penis, then we’ll all just know that I’m officially full of shit.