9 weeks!

Yay!

Each new week -- or, really, each new change on the pregnancy ticker -- feels like a new milestone. According to various sources, we've graduated from "embryo" to "fetus" now and the baby is either the size of a green olive, a small prune or the amount of brain cells I have left that aren't devoted to worrying about this baby.

Or, we could just go with a CRL of 22mm, since that's what the scan said.

Since I was sent off into the wild unknown of a "normal" pregnancy this week, I realized that I wasn't going to be able to have the luxury of an ultrasound or more a week anymore. To combat the mounting terror of Something Going Wrong, I bought a fetal doppler . Sure, I might not have needed the one-day shipping, but it was $3.99 per item. Sue me.

This could go one of two ways. I could, in theory, find the heartbeat immediately and feel a wonderful surge of joy and relief as I hear the steady thump of the Baby Stoat's heart.

Or, and this is far more likely, the fat on my belly could get in the way and I will wind up panicking until my next scan in June.

I know this, I know what I'm like, I *know* how paranoid I am, and still I spent $70 for even the chance at some peace of mind.

The doppler is out for delivery now. This should be fun!