20 weeks pregnant. I’m halfway! I have a feeling the second half is going to be better than the first. I don’t have anything to base this on aside from the fact that I don’t feel nauseous anymore and I can talk about tomatoes.
I have ZERO desire to eat tomatoes, but I can cut one up and put it on a sandwich for Captain without feeling like I’m going to die.
We went for our 20 week ultrasound. Our ultrasound technician had a running monologue the entire time we were in the exam room. We walk in and she asks,
“Do you want to know everything?”
“We want to know as much as you can tell us.”
The technician picks up the ultrasound wand,
“Oh this is a little sticky, I’m going to clean it again. How do you feel about Lysol? It’s lemon fresh.”
There’s a big ol’ squirt of warm gel on my belly and we’re off.
Side note, I just googled “ultrasound gel” to see if there’s a better term and found a message board inquiry:
“Can ultrasound gel be used as a sexual lubricant?”
“Yes, but it’s expensive. Is this an emergency?”
There was no reply, so we’ll never know.
Back to my ultrasound. Our technician snaps photos of the Blurry Blob’s brain, heart, stomach, bladder, kidneys, arms, legs, fingers, toes, lips, nose. She says,
“Baby, we still need to get your spine. I need you to cooperate.”
Is the Blurry Blob cooperating? The technician tries to get her shot, she says,
“Your baby just head butted me. That’s a good sign.”
“A good sign?” I don’t want head butts to be our standard form of communication.
“Yes, your baby is very responsive. Can you send a telepathic message to your baby to hold still so I can get this shot?”
So now the Blurry Blob has two forms of communication: head butts and telepathy. It also feels like somersaults might mean something. The technician asks,
“Have you been singing to the baby?”
Captain pipes up,
“She’s been singing and playing the piano.” Despite the fact that I’m tone deaf and my singing could be considered a form of torture. The technician declares,
“The baby will be a musician.”
That or the Blurry Blob will come out and ask me to please never sing again.
The technician examines all the measurements,
“You’ve got a big healthy baby, measuring 4 ounces above average. Could be because both of you are big.”
She squirts more goop on my belly and asks,
“So you want to know the gender?”
“You want me to just say it?”
“Just say it.”
“It’s a girl!”
After a moment of excitement, Captain and I turn back to the screen. I say,
“How do you know? I can’t tell.”
The technician moves her pointer around the screen,
“There’s the coin slot.”
Ah yes. She continues,
“That’s what you’ll be wiping. Do you see it? She’s got her legs spread wide open.”
I got the hint, I am getting you that cake!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Can it be an ice cream cake? 😉