Dear Wannabe Diary,

Today was one of those “out in the world” days—rare, I know. The occasion? A pregnancy check-up at the hospital. Not with my regular OB-GYN, mind you, because my pregnancy is classified as “high-risk” (cue the dramatic music).

Why? Oh, just a little thing called placenta previa that made its debut back in my 12th week. Let me set the scene: it’s a calm evening, I’m finally starting to feel less nauseous, and bam—blood.

Now, let me tell you, seeing blood during pregnancy is like hearing your toddler say, “I cut my own hair!”—instant panic. My partner and I threw our daughter in the car and sped to my mom’s place to drop her off, then rushed to the hospital. That 20-minute drive felt like an eternity. Seriously, it was as if every minute stretched into an hour, like watching the loading circle on Netflix buffer your favorite show.

At the hospital, they did an ultrasound. Baby? Perfectly fine. Heart beating, limbs wiggling, living her best life. Meanwhile, I was trying not to cry from sheer relief. They kept me for a week of observation, though, just in case. By the end, they diagnosed me with placenta previa—the placenta was low-lying, covering the cervix, a condition where your baby’s exit strategy becomes...complicated.

A few days later, I had my nuchal translucency scan, and guess what? Another minor bleed the night before. Because why not? My OB confirmed the previa and added progesterone to my daily routine, along with the golden rule: “No heavy lifting, no sex, and stay in bed.” (Not that I was exactly in the mood for romance, let’s be honest.)

Fast forward to week 16, and I was back at the specialist. The doctor suspected vasa previa—where blood vessels cross the cervix, creating a serious risk during delivery. Oh, and they casually threw in the possibility of placenta accreta (where the placenta invades the uterine scar from my first C-section), because why not stack the deck, right? Naturally, I Googled everything, because that’s what a sane person does (spoiler: I am not sane).

Let’s summarize:

• Placenta previa: Placenta covering the cervix. Possible C-section.
• Vasa previa: Blood vessels over the cervix. Definitely a C-section. Early delivery.
• Placenta accreta: Placenta attaches too deeply. Risks include massive bleeding and, in the worst case, hysterectomy. Yay.

Cue me, manifesting like a hippie at a music festival: “My placenta will move up. There is no vasa previa. My uterus is a drama-free zone.”

The 20-Week Check-Up

And today? 20 weeks and 2 days. I arrived at the hospital, decked out with actual makeup—a rare occasion these days. Seriously, foundation and mascara. I felt like a new woman. It was a big deal, okay?

First up, the anatomy scan. The doctor warned me it was a bit early for a full assessment but reassured me: most low-lying placentas move up by 30 weeks. (Google had already told me this, but hearing it from a professional was oddly comforting.)

On the ultrasound:

• Baby girl’s heart? Beating strong.
• Kidneys, femur, and brain? All looking great.
• Placenta? "This is looking good. It’s moved up significantly.”

Cue the Hallelujah chorus. The doctor even sounded optimistic. I almost cried tears of joy right there on the table. Turns out my nightly manifesting sessions work for more than just parking spaces!

Mini Victory = Mini Celebration

After the appointment, my partner and I turned the morning into a mini date. He had taken the day off, so we grabbed lunch, knocked out some errands, and soaked up a rare moment of peace without our toddler climbing us like a jungle gym. And here’s the kicker—while waiting for me in the car, he actually bought me a bouquet of roses. I mean, this man does not do grand romantic gestures often, so clearly, my Joe Dispenza-inspired positive vibes are paying off!

Still, as nice as it was to be out, I couldn’t wait to get home, plop down in front of my laptop, and hammer out today’s entry. It hit me—this blog, this space, feels like home. For now, at least, it’s exactly what I need.

So here’s to mini victories, a drama-free placenta (for now), and hopefully, not getting sick of writing anytime soon.

Signing off,
Wannabe Positive (and the CEO of My Placenta’s Relocation Services)