We were almost late. Stephanie goes to work at 5:00a.m., and I don't go until 8:00a.m., so we aren't that attuned to getting ready at the same time. That, and we laid in bed for too long before getting around. Saturdays and Sundays just don't afford enough opportunities to do so, and appointments, however important, don't hold the same rigidity as a waiting boss or ticking time clock seem to. Steph's mom, on the other hand, seemed determined to offset by herself any punctuality miscues her daughter and son-in-law had in mind. She was reportedly the first vehicle in the parking lot. Seriously, y'all. We were still lying in bed when she called to let us know she was on the way to the clinic. And we live about two minutes from each other. And we were just almost late. We were on time. And she left before we began getting ready. She apparently just beat her sister, Stephanie's Aunt Gayla.
So we get there, and there I go, into the Lion's Den. We entered into the waiting area, and I was greeted by a phalanx of mommies and mommies' hangers-on. A veritable Army of Estrogen. And removing myself momentarily from the equation, let me say that our brigade was the largest, occupying an entire corner of the large room. So large, in fact, that we even took the nurse by surprise when after Stephanie's name was called, not one, not two, but SEVEN people rose and headed back to the Ultrasound Studio. She scrunched us around the table, revved up the machine, and it was time to play picture pages!
Our Ultrasound Technician was Cindy, and she wasted no time. Within five seconds after finding Lil Wooly, she was marking indicators on the screen and taking measurements. At this point, all my eyes saw was an amorphous blob, and here she was surveying our baby. Cindy started a running commentary of anatomical parts as she ran the wand over Steph's budding belly. "Here's the forehead, and there are the eyes, and nose, and oh... will you take a boy?" It happened just like that. Within fifteen seconds of the ultrasound. It happened so fast it was almost anticlimactic. I didn't have an opportunity to get nervous about finding the sex out...she had ascertained it and told us before I could even realize whether Lil Wooly was "up" or "down"!
I am very proud to announce that Lil Wooly was right on par with all of his "indicators". Normal or slightly above. This, of course, doesn't mean much, as our doctor explained to us that genetic history does a far better job of predicting the size of an infant at birth than those indicators. Upon hearing this, I felt obliged to inform him that I was 10 pounds at birth. He turned to Stephanie and said "I'm sorry". I then informed him that I was also 25 1/2 inches as well. To which he again apologized to Stephanie. Lil Wooly may very soon be Lil in name only.
Other than that, everything was very normal. The doctor was pleased with the progress, and Stephanie is still on a schedule of once-monthly visits. We shook hands, and Stephanie and I left to join our family in the waiting room. I headed back to work, but Steph took the rest of the day off to go shopping. Now that Lil Wooly can a/k/a as Cooper Bailey, there is much to be done, and Stephanie wasted little time. Color schemes and nursery themes. Coordinating high chairs and strollers. There is even something called a pumpkin? Seriously? I'm pretty sure I've figured it out. Kids make up for what we inflict upon them as infants before they are capable of the emotion of embarrassment by being unnecessarily embarrassed by everything we do as teenagers. We'll see if I can remember this theory in about 14 years.
So... if pregnancy is a perfect bell curve, we crested at 20 weeks and are on the downhill slope taking us straight to childbirth. Of course pregnancy isn't a perfect bell curve. From what I can tell, it will most likely follow a bimodal distribution pattern, with two major peaks of chaos, insanity, and teeth-gnashing, and a valley of second-trimester bliss in the middle. Which is where we are now. Ahhhhh. Of course, as a husband I know that I should point out that this is all in the abstract, and that I would never, ever use a word like "bliss" in conjunction with the carrying of a fetus that could very well grow to be ten pounds on account of my genes. Again, let me reiterate. ALL IN THE ABSTRACT.
I should probably quit while I'm behind. I think I'll go try to correct her supine sleeping position and get her onto her side. That will certainly endear me further to her. G'night, y'all.
