April 1979
Daddy thought you might be interested in knowing about the goings-on in the world when you were 6 months old, so here's a brief and very general run-down:
Jimmy Carter is the President of the U.S.A., Dennis Kucinich is Mayor of Cleveland (ugh!)
A loaf of bread costs $.79, and regular gas is around $.72 a gallon. Daddy's paycheck is $225.00 per week, and our rent is $300.00 per month. Groceries cost approx. 50-60 dollars a week, and somehow we're always broke!
On the international money market, gold is worth $232.00 an ounce.
On the international political front, Israel and Egypt just signed a peace-treaty (after 30 years of war), China's invasion of N. Vietnam ended in a retreat, and the rest of the world is somewhat tense, but at peace.
Despite the loud complaints about inflation and nuclear power plants, this seems to be a time of general contentment and prosperity for the people in America.
And they still haven't found a cure for the common cold!!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Gnome Gnotebook
In October of 2006, my mom came to visit as she usually does around my birthday every year. This particular visit was special because Sean and I had just moved into our very first home (the same one we're in now) and of course, we needed my mom's curtain rod hanging expertise and designer's advice (are you sensing a pattern here? I promise she's not ill-used). Come to think of it, my mom's birthday visits are always timely--the year before was pretty special too, as it was the weekend just after Sean and I had gotten engaged and we were able to go to Suky Rosan to pick out my wedding dress. Good timing, mom! Anyway...
She always brings a bag of beautifully wrapped birthday presents--usually handmade scarves and jewelry from her friend Carol's store, Badawang, or candles or a bound journal or a really great book or two. This time she also brought The Gnome Gnotebook. In the living room of the house on Briarwood where we lived from the time my brother was born until I went to college, I often saw this book sitting on one of the built-in shelves that flanked our fireplace. But I never really knew what it was, I don't think. It didn't have pictures, and therefore, it didn't interest me. And besides, we had another book of gnomes that was far more captivating.
In any event, I suppose she thought that the buying of our first home together signified that Sean and I were ready to start a family, and what better way to acknowledge that than to hand off the record of that very same time in her life? Er, actually, she definitely thought that, as I just realized that the inscription from October 2006 reads "...and now that you and Sean are getting closer to starting your own family, I thought this would be the right time to finally give it to you." (I'm very insightful.) There were no blogs in 1978, after all, and so she had to hand write everything in pen in this little hardbound journal. The pages are ruled in blue with pink margin lines and a little drawing of a reading gnome sits in the lower outer corner of each page. There are 100 pages all together. The first page lists the vitals of my birth--time and date, weight, length, location, a description of my hair and eyes, and this: "with all 10 fingers, 10 toes, and lungs in very good working order!" At the bottom of the page is a tiny lock of hair.
The first entry is dated April 30, 1979, when I would have been six and a half months old. It's a recounting of the day before (my aunt and uncle's wedding), the day of, and the day after my birth. Clearly, enough time had passed that her memory of events had been veiled in the haze of euphoria that is new motherhood (read: exhaustion or denial, or both). She writes, "...the doctor told me to "push." Then, at 12:06, POP! You showed yourself to us for the first time." She also describes my Grandma and Dad, red-faced and perspiring, and says, "as hard as we worked, they worked even harder!" Woah, mom. The truly amazing thing is that I bet she really believed that, too. She was probably even apologizing at the time for the terrible inconvenience.
My family's pediatrician, Dr. Sundaresh, told my mom a poem when he came to examine me. The poem goes a little something like this:
A son's a son
Till he finds a wife,
But a daughter's a daughter
The rest of your life!
Huh? Sweet, I suppose, for 1978.
There are so many revealing entries in this journal--I can't wait to explore more in future posts. And I guess it stands to reason that a lot of what's written is about my mom being proud of me as her daughter and about our relationship as mother and daughter. It would have been a completely different story if I'd been a son. Revisiting the Gnome Gnotebook and seeing it from this perspective has made me think really hard about the sex of our baby. There was a slim possibility that the tech could have determined the sex from yesterday's ultrasound, but it wouldn't have been conclusive until later anyway. I think about whether I have a feeling, one way or the other--whether I have the slightest inkling or instinct about what the sex will be, or whether I have a preference. Part of me, a very large part, hopes for a girl because I am girl--a first born to a first born--and that has so shaped my relationship with my mom, which has in turn been so central to who I am as a person. I think in so many ways and for so many reasons that I'd be a better mom to a little girl because I KNOW it, I lived it. On the other hand, every person is different. Even if my first born is a girl, there's no telling what my relationship with her will be like since her personality will be different than mine, and mine as a mother is different than my mom's was. We're also in such completely different places in our lives, my mom having me at 20 and me having my first at 30, and with completely different family situations, my mom being surrounded by her family in her hometown and me not having any family nearby at all. Too many variables to guarantee that anything would be the same.
Then there's the part of me that's always imagined having a son that I could raise to be tough and sweet, smart and wise, and who would teach me to let go a little more. I've often thought about what it would be like to have had an older brother to stand up for me and protect me and to look up to. I also think it would be an amazing insight into the secret life of my husband--the part of him that I don't know because I didn't know him when he was little. He is an oldest son, and to watch him parent an oldest son would be like having a window into his life that he couldn't possibly know how to open otherwise. Talk about a two-for. That would be a really amazing gift.
I guess the point is that it doesn't matter, which is probably the conclusion that most expectant parents come to nowadays (since hopefully there aren't too many people espousing the sentiments of my pediatrician's poem anymore). Still, it doesn't make me any less curious!
She always brings a bag of beautifully wrapped birthday presents--usually handmade scarves and jewelry from her friend Carol's store, Badawang, or candles or a bound journal or a really great book or two. This time she also brought The Gnome Gnotebook. In the living room of the house on Briarwood where we lived from the time my brother was born until I went to college, I often saw this book sitting on one of the built-in shelves that flanked our fireplace. But I never really knew what it was, I don't think. It didn't have pictures, and therefore, it didn't interest me. And besides, we had another book of gnomes that was far more captivating.
In any event, I suppose she thought that the buying of our first home together signified that Sean and I were ready to start a family, and what better way to acknowledge that than to hand off the record of that very same time in her life? Er, actually, she definitely thought that, as I just realized that the inscription from October 2006 reads "...and now that you and Sean are getting closer to starting your own family, I thought this would be the right time to finally give it to you." (I'm very insightful.) There were no blogs in 1978, after all, and so she had to hand write everything in pen in this little hardbound journal. The pages are ruled in blue with pink margin lines and a little drawing of a reading gnome sits in the lower outer corner of each page. There are 100 pages all together. The first page lists the vitals of my birth--time and date, weight, length, location, a description of my hair and eyes, and this: "with all 10 fingers, 10 toes, and lungs in very good working order!" At the bottom of the page is a tiny lock of hair.
The first entry is dated April 30, 1979, when I would have been six and a half months old. It's a recounting of the day before (my aunt and uncle's wedding), the day of, and the day after my birth. Clearly, enough time had passed that her memory of events had been veiled in the haze of euphoria that is new motherhood (read: exhaustion or denial, or both). She writes, "...the doctor told me to "push." Then, at 12:06, POP! You showed yourself to us for the first time." She also describes my Grandma and Dad, red-faced and perspiring, and says, "as hard as we worked, they worked even harder!" Woah, mom. The truly amazing thing is that I bet she really believed that, too. She was probably even apologizing at the time for the terrible inconvenience.
My family's pediatrician, Dr. Sundaresh, told my mom a poem when he came to examine me. The poem goes a little something like this:
A son's a son
Till he finds a wife,
But a daughter's a daughter
The rest of your life!
Huh? Sweet, I suppose, for 1978.
There are so many revealing entries in this journal--I can't wait to explore more in future posts. And I guess it stands to reason that a lot of what's written is about my mom being proud of me as her daughter and about our relationship as mother and daughter. It would have been a completely different story if I'd been a son. Revisiting the Gnome Gnotebook and seeing it from this perspective has made me think really hard about the sex of our baby. There was a slim possibility that the tech could have determined the sex from yesterday's ultrasound, but it wouldn't have been conclusive until later anyway. I think about whether I have a feeling, one way or the other--whether I have the slightest inkling or instinct about what the sex will be, or whether I have a preference. Part of me, a very large part, hopes for a girl because I am girl--a first born to a first born--and that has so shaped my relationship with my mom, which has in turn been so central to who I am as a person. I think in so many ways and for so many reasons that I'd be a better mom to a little girl because I KNOW it, I lived it. On the other hand, every person is different. Even if my first born is a girl, there's no telling what my relationship with her will be like since her personality will be different than mine, and mine as a mother is different than my mom's was. We're also in such completely different places in our lives, my mom having me at 20 and me having my first at 30, and with completely different family situations, my mom being surrounded by her family in her hometown and me not having any family nearby at all. Too many variables to guarantee that anything would be the same.
Then there's the part of me that's always imagined having a son that I could raise to be tough and sweet, smart and wise, and who would teach me to let go a little more. I've often thought about what it would be like to have had an older brother to stand up for me and protect me and to look up to. I also think it would be an amazing insight into the secret life of my husband--the part of him that I don't know because I didn't know him when he was little. He is an oldest son, and to watch him parent an oldest son would be like having a window into his life that he couldn't possibly know how to open otherwise. Talk about a two-for. That would be a really amazing gift.
I guess the point is that it doesn't matter, which is probably the conclusion that most expectant parents come to nowadays (since hopefully there aren't too many people espousing the sentiments of my pediatrician's poem anymore). Still, it doesn't make me any less curious!
Monday, August 18, 2008
I KNEW it!
Mothers are always right. Remember way back (six whole weeks ago) when we went for our first ultrasound and the tech determined the age of the baby was 7 weeks 3 days? Remember how I insisted that the baby was actually 8 weeks old? Well, I was RIGHT! Today's ultrasound revealed the true age of the baby to be 13 weeks 1 day, meaning the first ultrasound was off by 5 days, making me right on the money. And five days is not a little bit of time in the life of a fetus.
So, I went today for the Nuchal Translucency scan at Hack. After, of course, doing just enough research on Down Syndrome and the other trisomies (not to mention Autism, for which you can't even test until the kid is like, a toddler) to get myself worked up into a mild frenzy. Luckily I had to drive myself (I really need to concentrate hard when I don't know where I'm going) and also there wasn't a whole lot of time in the waiting room, so I didn't get to think too much about it beforehand. Thank goodness.
It was my first time at the hospital and what I saw of it looked pretty nice. I wish I'd gotten the chance to look around more. The ultrasound tech was very sweet and very enthusiastic, which is fantastic considering that she takes pictures of strangers' fetuses day in and day out. She still managed to make my experience seem special. Or maybe our kid really is more impressive than others already. Hmmm...
Anyway, I walked in (Papouism) and laid down on the table, and she applied the gel and the ultrasound apparatus to my stomach, and even though I fully knew what to expect, I can't even describe the thrill I felt when the fuzzy, rolling landscape on the little black and white screen suddenly morphed into a dark, kidney shaped hollow with an actual baby floating in it! We've seen pictures of our neighbor's scans (see link at right to 'the 'cawens') and seen countless pictures in books and online of what ultrasounds at 12-14 weeks look like, and I was fully prepared and really excited to see something that resembled a human--leaps and bounds from the Lil' Bean of week 7 (week 8, ha-HAH!). But nothing could have prepared me for the actual experience of it. Even though my little book says the baby is constantly moving, and that, "using the wall of the uterus as a springboard, he leaps up and down," I guess I didn't quite grasp the...I don't know...literal-ness (literality? hehe) of that statement. As in, when you see the ultrasound of your baby, it won't just be a still, silent portrait. It will show him twisting and turning, jumping, flexing his legs, reaching with his arms... Babies aren't asleep all the time in there, even though it is small and quiet and dark and really, really comfy. Seems silly that I didn't put the two together.
Or maybe I did, logically, but the reality is something all together different and totally visceral. Our baby really was jumping. It almost looked like hiccups because his little legs are so short in comparison to the rest of his body, but when the legs came into focus it was clear that they were bending and flexing and pushing off, and then his little head was hitting the top of the womb, sending him back to the bottom again. He was reaching his arms over his head, then putting his fingers in his mouth, then throwing the back of his hand against his forehead in despair (it's tough in there, I tell you!). He kicked his legs all way out in front of himself, and then tucked them back underneath, crossed at the ankles, and rubbed them together like my dad does when he's sleeping. When the tech moved around to get a shot of the "lower extremities," there was a moment when the plane in focus showed just his feet--perfect little soles with teeny, tiny toes! The tech was trying to get a clear profile picture for Sean since he wasn't able to be there, but every time that little face would come into focus, he'd just as quickly squirm and twist and wriggle around. The tech jiggled my belly pretty hard over and over and over, trying to get him to flip over when he faced away. I turned to one side, and then the other, hoping he would flip around too, then finally she tilted the top of the table back so that my feet were higher than my head, and he stopped. Maybe it was just the strange orientation--I don't think there have been many instances since I've been pregnant when my feet have been higher than my head (except for at Pilates), but whatever it was, it worked. He relaxed and she got this fabulous shot, and I heard the heartbeat again: 162 beats per minute, very loud and very strong.
Lest all you who voted "girl" get your panties in a bunch, I'm just calling the baby "he" today because that's what the techs do before the sex is determined (and because, frankly, "it" is getting tiresome). Last week I was saying "she." I'm not committing just yet, and we won't know for sure for another five or six weeks.
So, I went today for the Nuchal Translucency scan at Hack. After, of course, doing just enough research on Down Syndrome and the other trisomies (not to mention Autism, for which you can't even test until the kid is like, a toddler) to get myself worked up into a mild frenzy. Luckily I had to drive myself (I really need to concentrate hard when I don't know where I'm going) and also there wasn't a whole lot of time in the waiting room, so I didn't get to think too much about it beforehand. Thank goodness.
It was my first time at the hospital and what I saw of it looked pretty nice. I wish I'd gotten the chance to look around more. The ultrasound tech was very sweet and very enthusiastic, which is fantastic considering that she takes pictures of strangers' fetuses day in and day out. She still managed to make my experience seem special. Or maybe our kid really is more impressive than others already. Hmmm...
Anyway, I walked in (Papouism) and laid down on the table, and she applied the gel and the ultrasound apparatus to my stomach, and even though I fully knew what to expect, I can't even describe the thrill I felt when the fuzzy, rolling landscape on the little black and white screen suddenly morphed into a dark, kidney shaped hollow with an actual baby floating in it! We've seen pictures of our neighbor's scans (see link at right to 'the 'cawens') and seen countless pictures in books and online of what ultrasounds at 12-14 weeks look like, and I was fully prepared and really excited to see something that resembled a human--leaps and bounds from the Lil' Bean of week 7 (week 8, ha-HAH!). But nothing could have prepared me for the actual experience of it. Even though my little book says the baby is constantly moving, and that, "using the wall of the uterus as a springboard, he leaps up and down," I guess I didn't quite grasp the...I don't know...literal-ness (literality? hehe) of that statement. As in, when you see the ultrasound of your baby, it won't just be a still, silent portrait. It will show him twisting and turning, jumping, flexing his legs, reaching with his arms... Babies aren't asleep all the time in there, even though it is small and quiet and dark and really, really comfy. Seems silly that I didn't put the two together.
Or maybe I did, logically, but the reality is something all together different and totally visceral. Our baby really was jumping. It almost looked like hiccups because his little legs are so short in comparison to the rest of his body, but when the legs came into focus it was clear that they were bending and flexing and pushing off, and then his little head was hitting the top of the womb, sending him back to the bottom again. He was reaching his arms over his head, then putting his fingers in his mouth, then throwing the back of his hand against his forehead in despair (it's tough in there, I tell you!). He kicked his legs all way out in front of himself, and then tucked them back underneath, crossed at the ankles, and rubbed them together like my dad does when he's sleeping. When the tech moved around to get a shot of the "lower extremities," there was a moment when the plane in focus showed just his feet--perfect little soles with teeny, tiny toes! The tech was trying to get a clear profile picture for Sean since he wasn't able to be there, but every time that little face would come into focus, he'd just as quickly squirm and twist and wriggle around. The tech jiggled my belly pretty hard over and over and over, trying to get him to flip over when he faced away. I turned to one side, and then the other, hoping he would flip around too, then finally she tilted the top of the table back so that my feet were higher than my head, and he stopped. Maybe it was just the strange orientation--I don't think there have been many instances since I've been pregnant when my feet have been higher than my head (except for at Pilates), but whatever it was, it worked. He relaxed and she got this fabulous shot, and I heard the heartbeat again: 162 beats per minute, very loud and very strong.
Lest all you who voted "girl" get your panties in a bunch, I'm just calling the baby "he" today because that's what the techs do before the sex is determined (and because, frankly, "it" is getting tiresome). Last week I was saying "she." I'm not committing just yet, and we won't know for sure for another five or six weeks.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Baby is Out of the Bag!!
What a relief.
We spent a beautiful day in New Hope yesterday, stuffing our faces and enjoying time with family. And finally, we were able to tell Sean's brother and sisters, though unfortunately, two were by phone anyway. Grandma Diana is thrilled because she's been keeping our secret (along with Grandpa Len) for the last seven weeks, and now she can shout it from the rooftops! And the baby got it's first presents--a Big Bird doll like one Sean had when he was little, a beautiful frame with spaces for pictures of each of the first 12 months, and a baby bootie bank with a crisp $20 from Stef's dad. Today I'll email this link to as many people as possible, and hopefully they will all take a look at The Littlest Wilson and catch up on all the fascinating stuff that I've been writing about and write comments and VOTE on the sex of the baby. I know for sure that Derek can't wait to read all about my doctor's appointments and Fetal Nuchal Translucency...
The first thing everyone asks when we tell them we're expecting is "How far along are you?" I guess there are two schools of thought when it comes to breaking baby news. Either you tell everyone you know as soon as you find out, whether that be at five weeks or twelve, or you wait until you're out of the woods, which is commonly known to be after the first trimester. Turns out that Sean is from the former school, and I, the latter. I made the decision to tell my bosses at work much earlier than I would have liked, but in an effort to explain why I had been acting so strangely as of late (tired all the time, cranky, peeing every two minutes, and my memory and ability to multi task right out the window). And we told specific people like our moms and dads and siblings and grandparents and closest friends as soon as we reasonably could. But it was really important to me to be able to wait to make it "public" until now (and I'm not even technically in my second trimester yet, but we just couldn't keep it to ourselves any longer!).
The more I think about it, the more interesting the difference in the two ways of thinking seems to me. Stef (Grandma D's fiance, henceforth known as Papou Stef) said "the Greeks don't tell anyone till after three months, and after the baby's born, no one comes to visit unless they're specifically invited until the kid is a few months old." There's a profound regard for the sanctity of the new family, almost like intruding would burst a protective bubble. Of course, that only applies to non-family! It's funny because I always thought of it as a personal preference thing, but I'm sure he's right--it's got more to do with culture, and that's just how my family was. Even my mom's side, which is more Jewish than anything, subscribes to that way of thinking, but then my Grandma (and consequently, my mom) always had a really intense respect for privacy and a person's right to share what they want to share when they want to share it.
For me, there is a line (albeit fine, and seemingly arbitrary to others) between what I feel comfortable sharing and what I don't. Sean doesn't get it sometimes and thinks I'm just really sensitive, and I admit that sometimes I do go a little overboard. If someone asks me a question that I'm not comfortable answering, I'd think it was an inappropriate question, whereas someone who doesn't mind sharing that kind of information would think it was perfectly fine. It's a really hard thing to gage, so as a rule, I err on the side of caution. For example, I always felt comfortable sharing that Sean and I want kids...but not whether we were trying for kids. I feel comfortable discussing the emotions that are involved in trying to conceive in vague terms, but I feel really uncomfortable when someone asks me how long it took Sean and me to get pregnant, and I would never ask anyone else that question. I might be more sensitive to that than the average person, but what those uncomfortable situations have reinforced for me is that you just never know. You never know what a person's comfort level is, and you never know what private difficulties they're dealing with.
Luckily, we're beyond all that! Now I just have to get comfortable with people touching my belly...
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Something's Going On In There...
I was taking a shower yesterday and bent over to shave my leg (oooh, steamy!) when something blog-worthy happened: I felt something in my belly! Not movement--it's way too early for that--but a thing. A mass. A something that wasn't there before. It was the strangest feeling. I straightened back up, bent over again, straightened up, bent over a few more times to make sure it wasn't a fleeting feeling (read: indigestion. Thank you, progesterone). It didn't go away. And lo and behold, it's still here today. I have an inkling that this is just the beginning.
When Sean came home last night, I tried to explain it to him. The only way I could think to describe it is that, on a daily basis, I never really think about exactly what is going on inside of my abdomen. The only time that I'm aware of my stomach, for example, is when I have a stomach ache; my diaphragm, when I have hiccups; my uterus, when I have cramps (whooohoo! no more!). Over the past month or so, I've basically just felt a constant state of uncomfortable fullness, like after Thanksgiving dinner. But it hasn't been such that I've been aware of any specific, particular changes going on in there, and I certainly haven't "felt pregnant." Sure, I stopped being able to suck in my stomach at all, and then it actually started sticking out...but it just felt and looked like I'd had "an extra big meal with lots of salt and liquor" (according to JLRB!).
Today, it's different. That feeling in the shower? That was actually being able to feel my growing womb. How come no one told me about this? I know it should have been a foregone conclusion, but let me assure you, it was not. Everyone told me about the amazing rush of relief and joy we'd feel when we heard the heartbeat for the first time, confirming that there really was a baby in there (that was true), and that finding out the sex of the baby would be another of those mind blowing, life changing experiences. And it should seem absolutely obvious that at some point along the way, I should actually being to feel the thing that's growing inside of me.
But it wasn't. It was a total surprise. And made me laugh out loud! I still don't really "feel pregnant," but at least this is one step closer.
Today we go to New Hope to spend the day with Sean's family. It's gorgeous--breezy and sunny and a little cool. After today, the baby will officially be out of the bag.
When Sean came home last night, I tried to explain it to him. The only way I could think to describe it is that, on a daily basis, I never really think about exactly what is going on inside of my abdomen. The only time that I'm aware of my stomach, for example, is when I have a stomach ache; my diaphragm, when I have hiccups; my uterus, when I have cramps (whooohoo! no more!). Over the past month or so, I've basically just felt a constant state of uncomfortable fullness, like after Thanksgiving dinner. But it hasn't been such that I've been aware of any specific, particular changes going on in there, and I certainly haven't "felt pregnant." Sure, I stopped being able to suck in my stomach at all, and then it actually started sticking out...but it just felt and looked like I'd had "an extra big meal with lots of salt and liquor" (according to JLRB!).
Today, it's different. That feeling in the shower? That was actually being able to feel my growing womb. How come no one told me about this? I know it should have been a foregone conclusion, but let me assure you, it was not. Everyone told me about the amazing rush of relief and joy we'd feel when we heard the heartbeat for the first time, confirming that there really was a baby in there (that was true), and that finding out the sex of the baby would be another of those mind blowing, life changing experiences. And it should seem absolutely obvious that at some point along the way, I should actually being to feel the thing that's growing inside of me.
But it wasn't. It was a total surprise. And made me laugh out loud! I still don't really "feel pregnant," but at least this is one step closer.
Today we go to New Hope to spend the day with Sean's family. It's gorgeous--breezy and sunny and a little cool. After today, the baby will officially be out of the bag.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
11 Weeks and Counting...
Ok, so once again my expectations for my most recent doctor's appointment were not met. Dammit! I think I've learned the lesson though, which is simply not to have expectations. Everyone's doctor is different and everyone's pregnancy is different, and I'll know better next time around I suppose, blah blah blah. Still, at this stage in the game when I really don't 'feel pregnant' yet, I'm totally reliant on the pictures of what in heck is going on inside of my body. And while pictures of strangers' uteruses (uteri?) are helpful from a logical standpoint, they're just not doing it for the illogical side of me (which, these days, is approximately 99.8% of myself). Hence the stock photo of some strange fetus in some strange womb in the 11th week, which is where Lil' B is now. It somehow reminds me of the Japanese flag. Cute, but not as cute as ours. This week you are to note the very well developed joints, which allow the baby to do somersaults and bounce around off the walls of the sac (no, I am not making this up), the budding fingernail beds (nails come next week), and that the eyes are moving around to the front of the head and the spine is straightening. Woohoo! Now that's progress. And it seems to be a little more than two inches long, or about the size of my engagement ring (just kidding). I'm looking around trying to find something comparable and I don't seem to own anything that's two inches long. How odd. Oh wait! My thumb is a little more than two inches from just above the first joint. Cool. Thumb Baby.
I'm exaggerating about the level of disappointment with my doctor's appointment. While it's true that I was hoping for an ultrasound and didn't get one (hmph!), otherwise it went really well. I wish Sean had been there to meet the doctor, who this time was Dr. Pat Robinson (she works with Dr. Weinstein and I'll see both docs throughout the pregnancy). Dr. Robinson said that they deliver more than 200 babies a year and only about two are delivered by the stand-by docs ("both boys," she said) when she and Dr. Weinstein are off for the Jewish holidays. Are doctors really allowed to take holidays? Aside from this apparent slacker mentality, she was really great--fabulous bedside manner, really took time with me to talk about concerns and take my history, and seemed otherwise like a perfectly normal person, which is always good.
The reason I didn't get an ultrasound this visit has something to do with the fact that the FNT (Fetal Nuchal Translucency test) has to be done at the hospital...I'm not sure why. The con of that is that it required making yet another appointment which won't be for another week and a half (optimal timing for the test is 13 weeks), but the pro is that we get to check out Hackensack University Medical Center, where we'll be having the kid.
Also disappointing this week is that we weren't able to go down the shore with Sean's family after all. When he returned from AZ he had hours and hours of preparation for the Dallas trip (where he is now), so there was just no way. More disappointing than not being at the beach though is the fact that we now have to wait another week to tell Eva, Courtney and Derek. We'll go down to New Hope next weekend for a cookout though, and tell them then. Can't wait till Sean is home tonight--should be the last trip for a while!
Oh--and in other news, Sadie is taking her role of preparing us for parenthood very seriously. Yesterday she ate half of a cake and a loaf of very expensive organic flax seed bread. Right off the counter. Better her than me, but still. She then proceeded to lose most of the cake right ON the new silk drapes in the office/baby's room. That will teach me.
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