And a spinal column. And all sorts of various things that most of us never thing twice about.
Like a gallbladder. Apparently, all 4 quadrants of the gall bladder are present. Which seems cool, but I’m a little surprised that it rated so much more coverage than the heart or the blood vessels in the umbilical cord.
I think the placenta got more screen-time, but not by much.
Then we have this mysterious-looking murky ink-blot shot labeled “gender.” The tech very nearly didn’t take it at all, because she didn’t want to give anything away if we didn’t want to know. But *I’m* the one who wants to be surprised. Laura wants to know now, and she seems to be turning the whole thing into a game of wheedling me down so we know before-hand.
It’s part of the basic agreement we have. I tell her what I want, she figures out how to make it happen, and then I get to enjoy this brilliant, seamless, seemingly effortless experience that she’s arranged for me.
It seems pretty one-sided to me, but she isn’t screaming too loudly yet about how unfair the whole situation is.
This may change in the fairly near future. Right now, she’s being nice and friendly about the whole thing.
But the midwife has warned us that, at this point, the placenta is in complete and total control of her hormones. Laura is, by far, the sweetest, kindest, most caring and considering individual I’ve ever met.
But I don’t think any of us are above playing that sort of trump card.
She’s already warned me that she probably been trying to fiddle with the envelope and feels discouraged about how well the tech fulfilled our request about sealing the whole thing up. In a sincere moment, she admitted that she’d tell me if she actually knows…then she promptly switched back to conniving and threatened me with Daphne’s tears if I didn’t relent and tear open the envelope immediately.
Since I’m such a cruel, heartless person, this amused me to no end. I’m tempted to come up with some analogy about lapping up Daphne’s tears like mother’s milk, but the humor falls flat on lots of different levels.
The truth of the matter is that, right now at least, Daphne probably couldn’t care less. By the time Rooby starts getting interesting, D will be heading off into her own life. I think the age gap is pretty similar between my mother and my Aunt Glenda. We might be able to bribe D into playing baby-sitter on occasion, but, mostly, she’s going to be busy figuring out puberty while Rooby’s figuring out diapers.
We will not be posting any pictures of any ultrasounds. I think they’re pretty cool, but Laura’s all shy about the whole thing. Go figure. I’m pretty sure this is a male/female thing. I’ll talk about weird things my body does all day long, but you have to be part of my inner circle before I’ll give you the first hint about how something makes me feel.
C’mon, What About The Gender?
We don’t know. If I have my way, no one will find out until Rooby is born. Honestly, this part matters so little to me that I just don’t care. I’ve seen enough to know that Rooby’s plumbing and Rooby’s mind may totally disagree about this whole thing. (Hopefully not, of course, but considering all the alternatives we looked at this morning…as a parent, would you rather have a child born gay, or one that has an upside-down gall bladder?)
Whatever happens will be OK with me. No matter what, Laura and I will be there for Rooby, just exactly like we are for Daphne. We love them both, and we want them both to be healthy, happy adults. I’m thrilled by what I saw this morning.
No, seriously, about the gender!
There’s one picture in the entire sequence that, reportedly, shows Rooby’s anatomical gender. The tech labeled it that way.
Laura says she thinks it looks like a baby playing with toy dinosaurs. I think it looks like a text-book anatomical diagram of the female reproductive system. The tech who did the scan switched to the pronoun “he” very shortly after we got the supposed porn shot.
We’ve been debating whether that was a Freudian slip or just the sort of royal “We” that professionals use so they don’t call your baby an “It.”
After all, it seems to be a UT fan (based on the sign language it was sharing), and…honestly, how much worse can it get?
Especially since I suggested moving back to Oklahoma and re-indoctrinating it to the One True Sooner Way, and Laura totally shot that idea down.
And, seriously. Would you rather be remembered for cattle drives and the Alamo or screwing the government (not to mention the indigents) out of the land that you were stealing in the first place?
I’m sorry, Khrys, but…Hook’em!