But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The call came on December 11 just as my quarterly mani/pedi session was winding up. It was only 11:45, early for these sorts of calls and so I wasn't prepared to hear the voice of my caseworker on the other end of the line.

"Merry Christmas!", she crowed, not needing to say anything more to convey her message properly.

Dale, my aesthetician and dear friend, could hear Meghan's salutation through my cell and began to weep openly in front of her other clients. I personally was in a bit of a daze, considering I'd just been told I was finally, finally pregnant.

The culmination of almost five years of effort, both privately and with the aid of the medical community, I now realized there was a cluster of cells inside me that would eventually leave me and stand on its own. I was not alone.

I didn't really feel anything tangible, obviously. I had to content myself with making my first entry on the 2005 calendar on January 4, 9:45 a.m.: an ultrasound that didn't deal with follicle size or cervix length or anything so wildly clinical. Now, all that was left was for me to hurry up and wait. I didn't plan on telling anyone outside of The Boy and my parents, but of course that didn't happen. Word of my delicate condition spread and I winced each and every time someone else came up to me with teary eyes and wordlessly hugged me. I couldn't remember a time when I wished the holidays away as vehemently as this past year.

The holiday season this year seemed endless. Baking, decorating, cleaning, socializing, all requisite activities for me turned into mountains to be scaled when I would rather have been sleeping as the incredible First Trimester fatigue had set in with a vengeance. This year's purchase of the Sbux Christmas Blend was in the blue decaf bag and I took a lot of heat from my unknowing cousins over that choice. I stocked up on Tylen0l products and took my Folic Acid religiously. And waited.

The lone gift I had asked for this year actually made its way to me: an iPod. I wasted no time transferring my songs over and made a quick playlist for The Baby. I positioned the earplugs in the general vicinity of my bellybutton and introduced the little bit to my musical tastes for hours on end. It was the only way I could think of to bond at this early stage.

On the fourth, The Boy and I set out for the hospital. We were greeted with hugs by Claire the receptionist and given an idea of just what we would be seeing when we first met our child. I disrobed and assumed the position after greeting Dr. Rebel in the dimly-lit ultrasound room.

My spidey sense began tingling about 15 seconds after my insides appeared on the screen. The doctor was too quiet, my caseworker squinted at the machine and the nurse was feverishly using her calculating wheel to figure something out that wasn't jiving with what she was seeing.

Then came The Talk.

The baby was only 1/4 cm long, although there was an obvious fetal stem and a fluttering that indicated a heartbeat. The length at the 42nd luteal day should have been 1 cm, so everyone was suddenly very guarded. I could feel myself sinking into a bit of a haze; I remember nodding and saying 'yes' a lot. They didn't hand me the copy of the ultrasound, instead placing it in my file. I was told to come back in a week and not to leap to any dire conclusions. Yeah, right.

That was a Tuesday.

Thursday afternoon, I encountered a wave of blood that lasted two hours. It was over.

What followed was more poking and prodding in the form of blood tests and another ultrasound. The baby and the sack were intact, yet so still. I was given three options on how to deal with my predicament, none of which were necessarily appealing. What struck me most as the team leapt into Medical Mode was the fact that this child was now considered an item to be disposed of within the space of time it took to read the screen. At the same time, I appreciated them emotionally stepping back to resume their usual distance as they discussed the risks of surgery and the required medications for the next couple of weeks.

My sixth cycle should begin shortly before my birthday, which I'll treat as a lovely sign. Goodbye, little one. I miss you.

Posted at 1:02 p.m.