Well, today has been filled with relieving and exciting news which made all of the weekend's fretting seem so worth it. Jim took Addy to her doctor's appointment this morning, while I filled out paperwork and waited and waited and waited in an unfamiliar OB's office. Addy is fine, her rash is a yeast infection which requires prescription cream, but no ear infection or anything, so that was good as far as I'm concerned. Rash= way better than ear drops or tubes or whatever.
And now for the really good news. After finally getting into the exam room after forty-five minutes, Dr. K got called away for a delivery. I curled up with my feet under my butt to keep them from turning into purple Popsicles frozen to the stirrups, and waited some more. The doctor finally got there, introduced himself, then abruptly informed me that it was much too soon for Braxton-Hicks and that if I was feeling contractions, I was probably beginning to miscarry. Nice to meet you, too, Doc!
He examined my cervix, and declared it to be fine, but said he wanted to look and measure it with ultrasound as well. Then he left. Now, in my usual doctor's office, they leave, wheel the ultrasound machine back in, and perform the sonogram there. But in this office, as I surmised after waiting like a moron for about ten minutes, you have to get redressed and go to a different room for the ultrasound. So I wandered down the hall to the desk, handed them my chart, and said hesitantly, "Am I supposed to be somewhere?"
"Room 5, have a seat and wait." The expression added, "Duh."
So off I trudge, wait some more, only to find that Dr. K has been called out to yet another birth, and I will be examined by an ultrasound technician instead. Which is fine by me, as Dr. K's charming bedside manner has done little to impress me thus far. The ultrasound technician is a really nice woman, early thirties, with long brown hair and pretty little silver hoops. She smiles, and does not offer flat, depressing statements, so I like her better than the other guy already.
She looks at and measures my cervix with the good 'ole transvaginal ultrasound, and again, everything appears fine and I am not dilated at all, so I feel hugely relieved and also slightly stupid for having wasted everyone's time. But not so stupid that I'm going to waste this opportunity.
"While you're there..." I begin. "Is it possible to tell the gender at this age?"
She tilts her head and starts probing around further (such an indescribable feeling, that probing!) "Not usually," she explains, "But since I'm looking with the vaginal ultrasound instead of over your belly, I'll have a better view. I can try!"
She is quiet for awhile, moving her wand inside my womb. "This is a squirmy baby!" she comments at one point. Then, "Oh, there's the cord, you see? And then over here, between the legs... Can you see that?" She points and freezes the camera frame.
And I can. I can see it. It is a penis. There is a penis inside me, and I am not currently having sex. You know what that means!
I have had a big stupid grin on my face all day long. We're having a little boy! A squirmy, feisty one, apparently, whose rolling and thrashing against my uterine wall I mistook for contractions. I could not be happier. A boy and a girl. Perfect.