I woke at 3am this morning after fitful dreams and surges of nerves – worried about a raft of issues the baby might have being revealed in the scan today. The vivid image I kept conjuring up was of being called away from the scan room to a separate office where a doctor would be seated behind a desk and we’d cling on to the moment before he spoke, when everything was OK, before everything came crashing down. Unable to relax enough to go back to sleep, I admitted defeat and got up, ate some Cheerios and watched House of Cards until proper morning replaced uncivil morning.
By the time we were on our way to the hospital I had turned a corner and was raring to get in there and get the baby scanned. If something was wrong with it we needed to know and deal with it. I seemed to have reached my quota of fret – as though the neurons that conducted irrational worry turned around to the neurons that carried practicality and said: ‘alright lads, we’ve finished our shift, you’re on’. There was no reason to think anything would be wrong, in fact the statistics were wildly in favour of nothing being wrong at all.
There were two sonographers when we were called in, one was a bushy-tailed, enthusiastic student who was keen to practise and I was happy to oblige. She had extensive knowledge of all the intricate parts of the baby and what she was looking for which she talked us through, but there’s a knack to capturing the right body parts which she hadn’t picked up yet, so the senior one would swoop in every so often. They told me my placenta was at the back and away from the birth canal – which is good. They measured the arms and legs and the diameter of the head, they checked the aorta and the chambers of the heart, they checked the baby’s kidneys, lips, spine and feet and the umbilical cord (to check it had two arteries and a vein running through it). It took ages due to the student chasing the baby around trying to capture images of its limbs while it flailed and kicked it’s legs to imaginary techno music. It took so long that we started to worry they wouldn’t get round to checking out the sex, but by the end of the appointment the senior sonographer said: ‘I know what the sex is, do you want to know?’
‘Yes!’ We said.
But I can’t tell you yet because I’m planning a cheesy gender reveal for my friends and family involving cakes with either pink or blue icing in the middle.
Most importantly the baby seems to be perfectly healthy and normal, so I can sleep the sleep of a grateful mum tonight.
And here’s baby face: