Kicking, waving, living.

The 12-week appointment began with a few tears shed in relief as the worries of the last few days were assuaged. Contrary to my fears, the thyroid hasn't killed the baby. It's still there, still big, measuring almost a week ahead now, and looking more like a real baby than ever. (The snowman days are over.)

All parts that should be visible at this stage are present and accounted for, including a funny little spinal column resembling that of a sardine. It kicked its stubby legs and waved at us with skinny arms, and it will wave at you, too, if you'd like to look here.

The nuchal translucency was within the normal range but low, about 0.5mm. "Too low?" I fretted (average is about 2mm). "No. It's normal, I said," the doctor repeated, probably wishing, not for the first time, that she'd never accepted me as a patient.

I can take the new MaterniT21 test, if we'd like to pay two thousand bucks to ship my blood to the US, Germany, or China for analysis. We would not. The results of the standard blood test for trisomies should be available next week.

She checked my cervix. All is fine, and I received a kind yet stern lecture about keeping my own hands off it because the normal variations would only make me worry. "Let the doctor be the doctor," said doctor concluded, snapping her latex gloves menacingly, or so I imagined.

With the exception of the cervix check and a discussion in the doctor's office, the appointment took place on the examination table with me fully dressed, top pulled up for an abdominal ultrasound. It was a nice step to take.

Next step: waiting almost four weeks for the next appointment, the longest I've had to be patient, without falling prey to yet another fit of anxiety.