05/09/2007: "She's a joker, she's a smoker"

The 36 week ultrasound this morning was delightful. I say that with no sense of irony whatsoever, despite the fact that I was convinced when I saw the number of people in the radiology department that I was going to be stuck in the waiting room for at least an hour with a bladder full of Diet Pepsi. But we were called in 10 minutes after arrival and were out the door 20 minutes after that - bagged, tagged and with pictures.

Current estimate on baby size is 6 lbs 11 oz. I would be concerned about that, since babies gain about half a pound a week in this last month and another 2 pounds seems like a lot on top of 6 lbs 11 oz, but late term ultrasounds are notoriously inaccurate. They can be up to a pound or more high sometimes. In a wild swing from my normal worrywart tendencies, I am choosing to assume that 6 lbs 11 oz is the very high end of possible and that I have nothing to worry about. Since I can do exactly nothing about her size except keep my blood sugar under control - which I'm doing - I must let go.

You getting this? I am letting go. Alert the freaking media. We will not pass this way again.

Other good news is that Dessa is head-down. There is precious little room for her in there these days so the odds of her flipping into a breech position now are pretty slim. She's been head down for weeks and although she’s a mover and shaker she hasn’t maneuvered into any compromising positions. That’s my girl! I am relieved to know this, as a friend of mine is going in for a C-section today because her boy is breech and won’t turn. I’m really working to avoid the C-section and passing the position milestone is happy news.

Since everything’s pretty tightly packed Chez Uterus, the images were sort of tricky to see. It’s a real tangle in there, but the face shots were relatively clear - to me, anyway. Dave was having a slightly harder time making out what we were looking at. I think that might be a hormone thing. I’m willing to see baby faces in the most obscure blobs possible. Strangely browned toast? Ah, it’s the image of my daughter! Mud puddles? My baby! Fluffy puffy clouds? Child of mine!

I am eager to bond, it seems.

In spite of my growing motherly tendencies, however, I’m still willing to call a spade a spade. The image I saw on the ultrasound machine and the one that got printed out? Not the same, methinks. Because it wasn’t until I got home and took a close look at the picture that the tech gave us:

that I was immediately reminded of this fellow:

You try to tell me that these are not the same person! My child bears more than a striking resemblance to Edward G. Robinson! All she needs is a smelly cigar! I don’t know what happened to the cute child in the 3D pictures, but this child is definitely up to something.

And if Edward G. Robinson doesn’t immediately spring to mind, I’ll bet you even money when you first laid eyes on that ultrasound picture, you thought of this guy:

Don’t lie. We see right through you. This is not a flattering ultrasound picture. Not that ultrasound images are exactly gorgeous, seeing as how the merest flip of the wrist turns a somewhat discernable face into Skeletor, but still. This one is quite bad. When we were watching the screen in the office we could see Dessa moving her mouth, presumably drinking amniotic fluid but I guess the subtleties there got washed together and we got this weird mouth going on.

Unless, of course, she actually is the reincarnation of Edward G. Robinson. Then we're in trouble.

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05/09/2007: "She's a joker, she's a smoker"