No dice.
Yeah, I apparently have a baby that is far more modest and unassuming and shy than I am. My pants and underwear were sitting in my husband’s lap while I was being probed wearing nothing much more than a very large square of toilet paper, and the baby was totally unwilling to let us see its little private parts. We saw all of the organs and every other bit of the baby (including what may be the cutest toes in the history of cute toes), but every time she tried to look between the legs it cuddled all up to my belly button. Which, surprisingly enough, is not as much of a clear window as it would seem.
We did get to see that the baby is healthy and developing perfectly and so on and so forth, which is the really important thing.
I’m fairly disappointed that we couldn’t find out what gender it is though. It may be silly, but I feel like I’ll be far more able to bond with the baby when I can think of it in concrete terms instead of the current abstract “it” that makes me feel rude. It’s not that I’m not bonded now (heck, I was even back at 6 weeks when the baby and my ovary combined to scare me shitless), I just want to know.
Also, the whole “maybe it was meant to be a surprise” thing? No. Screw that. Medical technology and such.
Part of my problem today is that I’ve been have a few weeks filled with wonderful and spectacular BIG things (like finding out that the baby is healthy, buying our lovely house, getting a visit from my mom and sister, etc.), but have just been getting laid out by the little things. Little things that, like I mentioned in the last entry, will probably be funny eventually. But my sense of humor is just as shy as my baby right now.
We’re planning to go to a 3D ultrasound place to get the quick 2D gender-check service that includes a re-check if the baby doesn’t cooperate that day. It’s annoyingly expensive, but worth it. Keep your fingers crossed that the baby isn’t wearing a lead apron or something by that time.
Because I Lost My Sense of Humor During The Move
Check out my brother-in-law’s new blog. He is far funnier than me, even if you get me on a good day (week? month?), and is also just an all-around cool person. You are a loser if you don’t read his site. Also, you’ll be missing out on things like this, “If I’m homeless, I’m making all ‘hermit crab’ with my Sousaphone and turn it into a sweet pad.”
The Southside Irish Parade
The parade went fine. I went into anti-social mode and stayed in my (beautiful) house all day. Our homebrewing club made a spectacular IPA and much fun was had by all who attended.
I walked to the train this morning and over the course of the 8/10ths of a mile walk, I tripped over beer cans and green mardi gras beads and green plastic cups that had obviously once held green beer. This, in a neighborhood that is immaculately groomed and without even a windblown tree branch out of place the rest of the year.
Then I realized that I have to put up with this crap once a year in Beverly. As opposed to every time there’s a big Sox series (like with the Cubs or Yankees). Or what if I lived in Wrigleyville?!? Ever single one of the home games over the course of a baseball season would be that way! So never mind. I don’t care. I’ll pick up the beer cans once a year.
Some linkage since I have nothing else in my head today:
Brilliance. Pure brilliance. “Morning sickness (like getting kicked in the balls I presume) is one of those things that provoke quiet mirth on the sitcom set and yet somehow aren’t so funny when you are on the thudding end.”
The Cubans wanted to play in the World Baseball Classic and America temporarily lifted various sanctions to let them. Now they’re whining. “Bud Selig needs to grow some huevos.”
A very smart little blurb on libertarianism.
