My tech was more specific, less ephemistic, and very impressed: "Here is her vulva, and -- oh look! her cleetorees. It's very beeg!"
That's my girl!
I KNEW it. Of course, I KNOW a lot of things that turn out not to be true, but this is one case in which I'm just going to take the win. Everyone is kvelling their faces off; someone just emailed me to say this: "You'll get to clean out a tiny vagina when it gets poop in it! You get to watch her fall head-over-heels in love with her dad! You get to watch her choose babydolls and more babydolls as you repeatedly present her with gender-neutral toys!" Ha, my friends are hilarious, and I can't wait for her to know all these amazing, funny, crazy aunties.
What struck me during the ultrasound was -- when my baby sister was born, some 35 years ago, we didn't even know if she was a boy or girl till she popped out. Today, we saw her brain, her beating heart, her ribs, her femurs; we saw little legs crossed, ladylike, at the ankle. We saw hands curled against her face, we saw the umbilical cord at first ghostly-pale and then in lurid colors. We saw her turn her head away, and an ear peeking out at the side; then we saw her turn her face toward us and were able to make out eyes, mouth, skull. Her mouth opened and closed. We saw that her feet are as big as her femur (normal). We saw that her palate is whole, not cleft. We saw that her heart has four chambers and beats as it should, fast, like a hummingbird's, while mine plods along slowly. We know so much about her, it's almost unbearable that we won't meet her till January. At least they upped her due date by a week: she's a week bigger than she ought to be, and the tech eyeballed my 6'4" husband and said, "Well, you're not small."
I would do anything for her. I'm so irritated that I can't feel her yet. I want to talk to her. And I'm not taking any more chances like I did yesterday. Last night I felt like absolute shit, ankles swollen, nearly passed out at work and on the way home; I cried from exhaustion and was so afraid I wouldn't see anything when we looked for her heartbeat today. And for what? So I could put in face-time while writing about "valuable rewards?" I know I do a good job. I know I can do that good job at home. I'm 41 years old, I can not fuck around. I'm going to ask for a doctor's note to work from home 2 days a week at least, and I'm also going to see the doctor herself from now on. Midwives are great when you're not high-risk, but my uterus is a pre-war model! I think it's still lined with asbestos and has lead paint! I FEEL OLD.
My self-same baby sister sternly lectured me last night to be a squeaky wheel. "You're crazy because you're supposed to be crazy," she said. "Embrace your craziness. Use it to make sure your baby's safe. What's the worst that can happen? People think you're crazy." They've been thinking that since I was born, so what's the harm?
I'm off to the doctor anyway, to see how my blood pressure is doing and whatnot. I'll post pics when I scan them in -- i was at the non-fancy hospital today, and their pics are printouts, not on a CD. But you'll see. You'll see!