The Ultrasound

We had our second ultrasound on Thursday. I drank a liter of water and tried not to pee my pants while DH drove to the imaging center. Then I continued to try real hard while waiting 30 minutes in the waiting room's uncomfortable chairs. Then I had to hold it even longer because the technician couldn't find my cervix. "We'll just take a look around while you wait for your bladder to fill." Um, it's full right now.

Most of my pregnancy info comes from crunchy mommy web sites like Mothering or Hathor the Cow Goddess... places that make you feel bad for doing anything your doctor advises like taking vitamins, peeing in a cup, or telling your child not to stick a knife in the electrical socket. Of course ultrasound is on the no-no list, too. While I'm not advising anyone to go out and buy the at home kit to peek in on your fetus's development 24-7, I can't see why anyone would say no to such a fun procedure. Once they find your cervix and where the placenta ends they even let you go pee.

Sure, these days I can feel little wriggling and the occasional thumping of a disgruntled baby. But it's so much more fun to sit in a dim room and watch your husband smile at a grainy black and white image on the TV screen while it flashes you the finger. Actually, it was a thumbs up. The technician was gamely writing titles on all the frames, but apparently didn't like our suggestions of "way to go dad!" nearly as much as we did. Our sophomoric giggling fits weren't making her job any easier, either. Still, she managed to find all the prerequisite fingers, toes, limbs and internal organs. My accidental night of unknown pregnant partying hasn't resulted in a baby with eyes on either side of the head, so we can all breath a little easier now. They print out the blurry images of your translucent alien looking child on a long strip for you to take home. Although after the fact it's a little hard to tell exactly what you're looking at. It's kind of like those ink blot test, but with a fetus. Here's one of her feet. This is the face. That's... um... I think that's a picture of her vajay-jay.

Everyone in town has now seen the inside of my uterus thanks to DH's eagerness. I came down from the DJ booth that night to find a very happy, very tipsy husband surrounded by congratulatory lesbians. Apparently they had all reproached him for dating the cute "lesbian DJ" only to be met with grainy pictures of our unborn baby girl. If there's anything an angry lesbian mob loves more than a lady DJ with a mohawk, it's pictures of her fetus. And DH had the blood alcohol poisoning to prove it.