“The littlest nugget is a boy! The ultrasound went very well. There is no previa, which gives us hope that might also avoid abruption. That means we just have to get by without pre-term labor (or, of course, any other complications). We’re remaining optimistic, but we’re not oblivious to the risks here. We need this kiddo to stay in until the 36 week c-section. Anything sooner would be considered an emergency and most likely result in a NICU stay… again…”
Pregnancy ultrasounds have never been an exciting thing for us. Our first experience was with a wheely-cart-toting-not-an-ultrasound-tech doctor we fled to when things turned south in pregnancy number one. Our first true experience was in an emergency room just shortly after that when we’d incorrectly assumed we’d lost that baby due to circumstances. Every ultrasound following those two – for our first pregnancy and this one – was set in an environment of held breaths, somber looks, and silent pleas to the Lord.
“Please, don’t let things be worse in there.”
With no reason to believe anything might be amiss, we still went into this ultrasound with a palpable level of anxiety. On this day, we would learn what our baby’s environment was like in there… and we’d learn our baby’s gender.
Having switched to a private practice for this pregnancy, our doctor understood and felt our anxiety. She brought us in three weeks early for our anatomy scan to either calm some nerves or get an earlier warning of what was to come depending on how things looked on the inside. Switching to a private practice was one of the best decisions we could have made. Our ultrasound tech on this day, not sworn to secrecy by a hospital system, quickly shared that she didn’t see any signs of previa or abruption. With relief, we watched our nugget wiggle and squirm as she took measurements and pointed out the hands we would hold, the heart we would hug, the toes we would tickle.
And then she sent us on our way with a sealed envelope that held an indication of baby’s gender. The envelope all but on fire in my hands, we went down the hall so I could receive my first Makena injection, waited at the checkout, walked silently to the elevator, and immediately began gushing our guesses when the doors closed and we were alone for the 20 second ride. The doors opened and we walked to the parking lot where we then decided there was no point in waiting any longer.
As we sat in our van, I slipped my finger into the envelope and pulled out the anatomically explicit photo that answered our prayers – a boy. While Kevin and I had both said we’d be fine with either gender, our hearts were honestly yearning for a boy. A boy could complete our family. A boy would give Kevin the son most men long for. A boy would give us the world from a new perspective. We drove home and took our suppressed giddiness back to work before celebrating that night with Oaklee over Blue Moon ice cream and blue balloons.
Our baby was a boy.
And my body was being good to him unlike it was for his sister.
We were over the moon.
In the stats:
Gestational Age: 17 weeks, 3 days
Doctor’s Appointments: 4
Makena Injections: 1