After weeks of waiting, it was finally time to get our first ultrasound. This was of course the optional ultrasound to measure nuchal translucency (measuring the neck fold) to check for Down’s Syndrome, but I really wasn’t concerned that we’d be having a Down’s baby. I just wanted to see it! There was also a blood test I had to have taken, but that seemed a small price to pay to get to see the little bugger a little sooner (otherwise, I’d be waiting for the anatomy ultrasound, which is usually done between 18-20 weeks). Both Greg and I were nervous, excited, scared, and anxious about having it done. I was also sure I’d probably do the typical thing that most mothers do when they first see their baby and cry my eyes out, so I had stuffed a few tissues into my pockets in preparation.
Once in the room, I climbed up on the exam table, dropped trou, and the ultrasound tech squirted a bunch of the (thankfully pre-warmed) ultrasound gel on my stomach. She slid the transducer around on my belly for a moment, and then, there it was on the screen: our little dude or dudette, heart beating away at a good clip, just chilling there motionlessly with its arm up near its head in my uterus. There were no tears, but I couldn’t help but squeal a little and smile. “It’s really in there”, I thought. Up to this point, even knowing I was pregnant, none of it felt really real to me until that moment when I saw it. Greg was also grinning like the proud papa he is. Since the little critter was apparently sleeping, the ultrasound tech had to gouge my gut with the transducer to try and get the sleeping babe to move into the proper position to look at the back of its neck. At first, it didn’t want to move, only twitching slightly after being molested from outside the womb. We couldn’t help but giggle at how lazy he/she seemed to be. She continued to harass my fetus with the transducer until it finally moved, but had to keep nudging it because it wasn’t in a good position for her to get a good look at it; it didn’t help that it kept settling into its little cozy spot that it seems to prefer. Finally, she was able to get the pictures she needed, after probably about 20 minutes of jabbing my gut, which was very sore in the following days. I jokingly asked her if she could take a look between the legs to see if she could see anything, and she obliged. Fetal genitals are still a little ambiguous at 12 weeks, so she couldn’t say for sure what it was (though I have my own suspicions, I’m not sharing until we know for certain). She printed off a picture, told me everything looked good, and then we were on our way.
The next day, we had a doctor’s appointment, and this time I got to meet Dr. Gingrich, who is my babydoctor, as opposed to Tammy, who I saw the first time and is a Clinical Nurse Midwife. I had to fill out a form outlining mine and Greg’s previous medical history, and the medical history of both of our families. I filled it out as completely and truthfully as possible, and made lots of comments in the comment boxes (for example, I put down that I had previously had issues with anxiety, but they had since resolved). There was also a survey I had to fill out that asked how you felt when you found out, and how the father felt when he found out. Also on the survey was a question asking if I was related to the baby’s father, which kind of took me aback. I guess they have to ask these things, but I wonder how often people mark “yes” on that question?
I was finally called into the back, where I was weighed (thanks to my morning sickness, I hadn’t gained any weight yet, which is good, considering my previous weight), gave a urine sample to check for protein and for urinary tract infection, and then led to the exam room, where the nurse took my blood pressure. When she first took it, it was marginally elevated (135/80-something), and she asked me if I’d had high blood pressure before (I haven’t). She let me relax for a moment after I told her I was just probably having a little “white coat syndrome” and then rechecked it, and it was 128/80-something, which is fine. Finally, I got to meet Dr. Gingrich for the first time, who is a slender, attractive blonde woman who looks to be in her 40’s, and also has more than a passing resemblance to Ann Coulter. Thankfully she’s a lot kinder and gentler than Ann Coulter, and she immediately set my mind at ease. We discussed my medical history and that of my family at length (which is chock full of Type 2 Diabetes and Breast Cancer; she urged me to get a BRCA DNA analysis, which I’m still considering), she listened to the heartbeat with the Doppler (which we got to hear also), and we were on our way out the door. I got a goody bag full of various things, including formula samples and a pregnancy journal. I like free stuff. Awesome.
That night, we traveled back to the old country to eat dinner with my family and to show them all my ultrasound picture. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at showing them a picture of the little life that’s growing inside of me, and feel like I have finally joined the mother’s club, even though it will be a while before we meet Junior.
Once in the room, I climbed up on the exam table, dropped trou, and the ultrasound tech squirted a bunch of the (thankfully pre-warmed) ultrasound gel on my stomach. She slid the transducer around on my belly for a moment, and then, there it was on the screen: our little dude or dudette, heart beating away at a good clip, just chilling there motionlessly with its arm up near its head in my uterus. There were no tears, but I couldn’t help but squeal a little and smile. “It’s really in there”, I thought. Up to this point, even knowing I was pregnant, none of it felt really real to me until that moment when I saw it. Greg was also grinning like the proud papa he is. Since the little critter was apparently sleeping, the ultrasound tech had to gouge my gut with the transducer to try and get the sleeping babe to move into the proper position to look at the back of its neck. At first, it didn’t want to move, only twitching slightly after being molested from outside the womb. We couldn’t help but giggle at how lazy he/she seemed to be. She continued to harass my fetus with the transducer until it finally moved, but had to keep nudging it because it wasn’t in a good position for her to get a good look at it; it didn’t help that it kept settling into its little cozy spot that it seems to prefer. Finally, she was able to get the pictures she needed, after probably about 20 minutes of jabbing my gut, which was very sore in the following days. I jokingly asked her if she could take a look between the legs to see if she could see anything, and she obliged. Fetal genitals are still a little ambiguous at 12 weeks, so she couldn’t say for sure what it was (though I have my own suspicions, I’m not sharing until we know for certain). She printed off a picture, told me everything looked good, and then we were on our way.
The next day, we had a doctor’s appointment, and this time I got to meet Dr. Gingrich, who is my babydoctor, as opposed to Tammy, who I saw the first time and is a Clinical Nurse Midwife. I had to fill out a form outlining mine and Greg’s previous medical history, and the medical history of both of our families. I filled it out as completely and truthfully as possible, and made lots of comments in the comment boxes (for example, I put down that I had previously had issues with anxiety, but they had since resolved). There was also a survey I had to fill out that asked how you felt when you found out, and how the father felt when he found out. Also on the survey was a question asking if I was related to the baby’s father, which kind of took me aback. I guess they have to ask these things, but I wonder how often people mark “yes” on that question?
I was finally called into the back, where I was weighed (thanks to my morning sickness, I hadn’t gained any weight yet, which is good, considering my previous weight), gave a urine sample to check for protein and for urinary tract infection, and then led to the exam room, where the nurse took my blood pressure. When she first took it, it was marginally elevated (135/80-something), and she asked me if I’d had high blood pressure before (I haven’t). She let me relax for a moment after I told her I was just probably having a little “white coat syndrome” and then rechecked it, and it was 128/80-something, which is fine. Finally, I got to meet Dr. Gingrich for the first time, who is a slender, attractive blonde woman who looks to be in her 40’s, and also has more than a passing resemblance to Ann Coulter. Thankfully she’s a lot kinder and gentler than Ann Coulter, and she immediately set my mind at ease. We discussed my medical history and that of my family at length (which is chock full of Type 2 Diabetes and Breast Cancer; she urged me to get a BRCA DNA analysis, which I’m still considering), she listened to the heartbeat with the Doppler (which we got to hear also), and we were on our way out the door. I got a goody bag full of various things, including formula samples and a pregnancy journal. I like free stuff. Awesome.
That night, we traveled back to the old country to eat dinner with my family and to show them all my ultrasound picture. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at showing them a picture of the little life that’s growing inside of me, and feel like I have finally joined the mother’s club, even though it will be a while before we meet Junior.
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