Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

Well, it’s not a puppy or a cricket — it IS, in fact, an actual baby with actual baby-like appendages and fingers and toes and I’m reluctant to say this, as it sounds so sappy and mom sell-out-type talk, but it was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in my whole life. Call me stupid, but I didn’t know that babies moved so much at that stage. S/he was sleeping at first and then … oh, and then! There was moving and stretching and arm-waving and so! much! wiggling! that I burst into tears and heaved silently for a moment until the technician told me to breathe, oh my God, BREATHE. This is a major improvement over the last ultrasound, when the doctor said, “That’s your baby!” and I said, “Eh?” because it may as well have been my kidneys we were looking at. No, I’m sorry, I take it back: my kidneys would have been more exciting and probably more baby-like. I believe I then tried to cover my disappointment with, “Well, get the hell out of here! Nifty!” So convincing. Also, nifty?

Anyway, this ultrasound also included a 4D component, which was so cool and so unexpected, even if the baby looked more like Skeletor on it than on the 2D. (Adam: “You kind of uh, see too much there.” Me: “Ew, is that the placenta?”) The ultrasound chick said she could make a pretty good guess as to the sex of the kid, but the little rugrat REFUSED to uncross its legs, no matter how many times we jiggled and poked and laughed. He mocked us. I do, however, have a head-on shot of the uh, cheeseburger and/or twig & berries — three dots, which could be either a clitoris and two, uh, labial lips (I AM SO SORRY, DARLING BABY, THAT I AM TALKING ABOUT YOUR MAYBE CLITORIS AND LABIA) or a penis and two testicles. You know, one or the other. When Adam scans them in, I’ll post for your perusal, because to me, it screams BOYPARTS, but you know, she’s a professional, so whatever, we’ll go with her and her vague “Uh, no idea?” unless you have a better one.

Anyway, despite the fact that I’m still puking every night, I can honestly say I’ve never been more excited for anything in my whole life, and seeing that little thing in there changed me in a way that I can’t even describe. I am … I am a little embarrassed about this, because HELLO, I AM A CLICHE, but man. Nothing beats seeing my baby waving and kicking and getting pissed off at us for poking at it with an ultrasound wand. Nothing.

(CHEESY CLICHED PREGNANT LADY. HOW EMBARRASSING.)

In other, entirely unrelated news, there are few things in life that would improve my daily comfort than the ability to burp. I never burp — literally, I probably burp once or twice a QUARTER, if that — and I am so envious of easy burpers. You know, the people who just let loose with a good old BELCH that sounds like it FEELS SO GOOD and yes, I know it’s gross. Whatever. I’m jealous. My ability to fart on command is totally pale in comparison. Any attempt I’ve ever made to burp myself results in a lot of awkward hacking and the occasional gag. WTF?

We have no plans this holiday weekend, instead traveling the weekend AFTER to Syracuse for the premiere of the Ernie Davis biopic, The Express. (For those not familiar, Adam and I both went there, and my brother-in-law teaches there and works with the athletic department). Anyway, this event is, uh, formal and all Hollywood-like. Which is totally what every kegger-like early second trimester pregnant woman wants, the occasion to get all dolled up and rub elbows with B-listers while looking like she swallowed the contents of a Krispy Kreme franchise. I mean, I’m looking forward to it (and the Penn State game the next day), but still. I’m not looking forward to being the drunk-looking girl heaving in the bathroom in an ill-fitting cocktail dress, as I’m so not Jessica Alba.

It’s perhaps worth noting that the last formal-ish event I attended was my nephew’s wedding, where I was outed TO THE WHOLE WEDDING that I was seven weeks’ pregnant because I got caught throwing up behind the oh-so-stinky tires of my car in front of the entire smoking contingent at the reception, after being too afraid to puke in the bathroom and ruin the guests’ experience. I may not be Jessica Alba, but don’t say you can’t take me anywhere.

Have a great long weekend, y’all.

*David Gray

26 comments August 28th, 2008