16 Weeks, Stuff & Nonsense
December 22, 2010
AMY: Hey! Who wants to hear all the boring nitty-gritty details of a routine obstetrician visit?
VAGUELY MUTED VOICE: ME! ME! I DO! I DO!
AMY: Great! Okay, so...
YOU: Hey, wait a second, that was you, answering your own question, with your teeth clenched like a ventriloquist or something.
AMY: No it wasn't.
YOU: I saw your lips move when you made the "M" sound.
AMY: No you didn't.
YOU: This is stupid. I wish Cake Wrecks updated more than once a day.
Anyway! Okay, so...
Sixteen-week OB appointment this morning.
Results of the genetic screening from the last appointment reveal that my risk of Down syndrome is about the same of a 28-year-old pregnant woman. I am...not 28 years old. Nor am I 16 years old, which was where the risk of Trisomy 18 fell. These are apparently very GOOD numbers, so I am going to remain content with that and refrain from Googling so if I'm at all misrepresenting the SCIENCE behind these Very Important Blood Tests I apologize to the medical community. I simply wanted to tell the world about my spry and quite-young-for-its-age uterus. Even though I'm guessing that isn't specifically what the results were saying.
(Also: YAY. And whew, particularly on the Trisomy one.)
And speaking of things that sound like bragging but I swear I am just reporting facts here: My total pregnancy weight gain so far is a big, fat zero. No pounds gained. I was genuinely unnerved to notice this, because SERIOUSLY, I have not been exaggerating at all about the amount of pie I've been eating. We went through two dozen eggs and three packages of butter over Thanksgiving, we are already running low on Christmas cookies, I have regularly indulged in chili cheese fries on a near-weekly basis and one of my Big Cravings this pregnancy has been fancy boxed chocolates.* As in, ENTIRE BOXES OF THEM, consumed in a single sitting. Two sittings, tops.
Though I'd have trouble defining what exactly constitutes a "sitting" because THAT IS ALL I DO.
*Last-minute gift idea alert! I like the ones with the gooey cream fillings the bestest.
I know the stomach flu knocked me down for about a weekend there, but for real, I technically should have MORE than made up for that weight loss since then. My doctor thought it was funny that I was "complaining" about the lack of weight gain but I really am at a loss as to how I could possibly NOT have put on a damn good 10 pounds by now, puny ounce-sized fetus aside. He was all, "Eh, it's fine. Just try to gain like, three pounds by the next appointment."
So now that it's like, an actual assignment, be prepared to see my perfectionist self completely overachieve on that goal and show up in four weeks 20 pounds heavier. I'll be like Rocky, only with less running.
And that next appointment -- four weeks from today! -- is the Big One, the Big 20-week ultrasound that will hopefully tell us for sure that we're having another boy what the sex of the baby is. I had a dream about the ultrasound, and we were told that it was actually a girl, and I immediately had to shake Jason awake while shouting possible girl names at him, because we haven't the first clue what to name a girl.
Jason always resisted the Name Discussions until AFTER we found out we were having boys, so we've never once really settled on a single girl name. Two names that I've always liked have unfortunately become tainted recently by various Hollywood and tabloid jackasses, plus I always get this compulsive need to wipe the name slate completely clean with each pregnancy, so our runners-up names from the past rarely resurface. Because...they're used names, now, you see? Hand-me-downs. Previous rejects, so giving them to a subsequent baby seems wrong to me, like "oh, this name wasn't GOOD ENOUGH for your brother, but we couldn't be bothered to come up with anything else for you, so here you go."
I mean...yeah. I realize I'm probably the only person who thinks like that. But hey! I know you people don't come here to read about someone who's really well adjusted and logical and shit. Welcome to my neurosis, and/or Why None Of Our Children Will Ever Be Named Elijah, Despite The Fact That It Is A Perfectly Cromulent Name.
Okay, one last dumb story and then you can get on with your lives: My OB was in surgical scrubs when I arrived this morning, and I assumed he was either coming from or on his way to a delivery, but it turned out the office had just performed one of those fancy new non-surgical tubal sterilization procedures. (Adiana or Essure or whatever other one there is with the posters on your OB/GYN's walls with all the women gazing out over the ocean or the nearby fields of gold while wearing white linen pants.) During my appointment, he was quite adorably jazzed by how interesting the procedure was and wanted to tell me all about it, and then right after checking the baby's heart with his Doppler he stopped and asked, "So...how many children do YOU want?"
Nice SEGUE, doctor! But I think you'd better hold off on that particular upsell for awhile. At least let me finish baking this one before I start making big life decisions like that. Right now I mostly just want to think about where I can pick up another box of chocolates on my way home.