We went for our 19-week ultrasound this afternoon.
I got a friend to come sit at home while Soren napped and then picked Scott up from work. We drove to the Women's Clinic, parked, and held hands while we walked through the corridors to the lab.
"I'm mostly excited to make sure that it's healthy," I lied. "It's more important to count the limbs than know the gender." Scott smiled and squeezed my hand. He knew that I could barely contain my excitement to find out whether we would be having a son or a daughter. He saw right through my paper-thin disguise, I think because he felt the same way.
There was only one important question: boy or girl?
I'm sure the technician knew why we had come. I'm sure he knew we were all chomping at the bit to see those all-important boy or girl parts. But he took his sweet time getting there, looking at the heart and brain, measuring the bones and belly, snapping pictures of the limbs and spine.
Everything was healthy and still we'd had no peak at the genitals.
Finally the technician asked, "You want to know the gender?"
I tried to say "yes" non-nonchalantly and I think I was mostly successful. I was on pins and needles waiting for the verdict and I hoped he already knew and would be able to tell us straight away.
But he didn't. He started poking around with the equipment, as though he was trying to pound a hollow into my belly to look through. I gathered that he couldn't quite get a good angle and we looked at a rather fuzzy picture on the screen for a while.
Finally I could make out the baby's legs. We were looking at them from the back and they were clasped shut. There was no way we would be able to determine the gender from this angle. But when the technician swung his tool around to the other side, the placenta and cord where blocking the all-important view. No luck.
He beat on my stomach, trying to get the baby to move. It stubbornly stayed put while the technician grumbled about how uncooperative fetuses are. I turned on my side and tried to bounce the baby into a better position but still it remained unmoved. There was no way we were getting a look.
I was sent out to walk the hallways, in hopes of dislodging the baby from his comfortable but annoyingly secretive pose. Scott and I went to the bagel shop across the street and I got something loaded with sugar, just in case the baby was sleeping and needed a pick-me-up.
But we were readmitted to the ultrasound room, there had been no change.
"You want my guess?" the technician asked while cleaning his equipment.
We did want his guess.
"I think it's a boy. I'm more than 50% sure." I snorted at that last bit. We had already been 50% sure we were having a boy before the appointment; it wasn't much of an improvement to be a little bit more than 50% sure.
"Thanks," I said, trying not be sarcastic, while I wiped jelly off my stomach and re-situated my pants line.
And here we are, just as unsure as we were before we had our ultrasound. I've relived my disappointment over and over as the calls from well-meaning family members have flooded in and I've heard it in their voices as well. We all wanted to know, as though knowing would make it real.
They offered to do another ultrasound in a few weeks time. At first I didn't think I could wait that long to find out; now I'm not sure that I will take them up on the offer.
I went into the doctor's office expecting to come out with one of two answers. I didn't know there could be a third. But maybe "I don't know" is the information and excitement I am meant to carry through the rest of this pregnancy.
I got a friend to come sit at home while Soren napped and then picked Scott up from work. We drove to the Women's Clinic, parked, and held hands while we walked through the corridors to the lab.
"I'm mostly excited to make sure that it's healthy," I lied. "It's more important to count the limbs than know the gender." Scott smiled and squeezed my hand. He knew that I could barely contain my excitement to find out whether we would be having a son or a daughter. He saw right through my paper-thin disguise, I think because he felt the same way.
There was only one important question: boy or girl?
I'm sure the technician knew why we had come. I'm sure he knew we were all chomping at the bit to see those all-important boy or girl parts. But he took his sweet time getting there, looking at the heart and brain, measuring the bones and belly, snapping pictures of the limbs and spine.
Everything was healthy and still we'd had no peak at the genitals.
Finally the technician asked, "You want to know the gender?"
I tried to say "yes" non-nonchalantly and I think I was mostly successful. I was on pins and needles waiting for the verdict and I hoped he already knew and would be able to tell us straight away.
But he didn't. He started poking around with the equipment, as though he was trying to pound a hollow into my belly to look through. I gathered that he couldn't quite get a good angle and we looked at a rather fuzzy picture on the screen for a while.
Finally I could make out the baby's legs. We were looking at them from the back and they were clasped shut. There was no way we would be able to determine the gender from this angle. But when the technician swung his tool around to the other side, the placenta and cord where blocking the all-important view. No luck.
He beat on my stomach, trying to get the baby to move. It stubbornly stayed put while the technician grumbled about how uncooperative fetuses are. I turned on my side and tried to bounce the baby into a better position but still it remained unmoved. There was no way we were getting a look.
I was sent out to walk the hallways, in hopes of dislodging the baby from his comfortable but annoyingly secretive pose. Scott and I went to the bagel shop across the street and I got something loaded with sugar, just in case the baby was sleeping and needed a pick-me-up.
But we were readmitted to the ultrasound room, there had been no change.
"You want my guess?" the technician asked while cleaning his equipment.
We did want his guess.
"I think it's a boy. I'm more than 50% sure." I snorted at that last bit. We had already been 50% sure we were having a boy before the appointment; it wasn't much of an improvement to be a little bit more than 50% sure.
"Thanks," I said, trying not be sarcastic, while I wiped jelly off my stomach and re-situated my pants line.
And here we are, just as unsure as we were before we had our ultrasound. I've relived my disappointment over and over as the calls from well-meaning family members have flooded in and I've heard it in their voices as well. We all wanted to know, as though knowing would make it real.
They offered to do another ultrasound in a few weeks time. At first I didn't think I could wait that long to find out; now I'm not sure that I will take them up on the offer.
I went into the doctor's office expecting to come out with one of two answers. I didn't know there could be a third. But maybe "I don't know" is the information and excitement I am meant to carry through the rest of this pregnancy.
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