Week 21 ~ October 30 - November 5
~ It's a . . .
Well, it's official. Aaron, Chelsea, the lady at 7-11, myself, and just about everyone else besides my sneaky mother are all WRONG.
It's a boy!
Whew. That was a surprise, and it'll teach me to always go with my gut instincts. I knew it was a boy when I saw the ultrasound in September, but what did I do? I let visions of frilly dresses and fairy princesses and My Little Ponies cloud my mind! No wonder little Charlie has been so topsy-turvy of late, he's indignant about Aaron's and I's late-night discussions of prom dresses and future boyfriends.
And Charlie made it KNOWN, too, what his gender is. We got to our ultrasound appointment yesterday, excited, but very nervous that, for whatever reason, they just wouldn't be able to tell. Almost immediately upon getting me up on the table and under a glob of ultrasound goo, Aaron blurted out, "Can you tell what it is?" We had no idea what on earth we were looking at. The technician said, matter-of-factly, "It's a boy." "It's a boy? What? How do you know? Where? Boy? What?!" She then showed us exactly what we were looking at, and all the corresponding boy parts. Aaron screamed a loud WOOHOO of sheer triumph, which most likely could be heard from all over the office, if not all of Colorado. His boyness having been officially discovered, Charlie spent the rest of the exam flopping around, putting his hands up over his face so we couldn't look at him, kicking out his legs, peeking out from behind his hands, sticking his tongue out and, I kid you not, turning around and mooning us. Naughty already - very, very much a boy!
Charlie was measured all over his little baby body, making sure everything is where it should be. Nice, normal legs, arms, head, brains, heart, cord, guts, everything. The nurse did say that it looks like he's got very long fingers and toes, just like Aaron. This terrifies me just a little, because there's a good chance that, if the digits follow, so will the rest of him, and Charlie will be a mirror image of his enormous daddy. Obviously, I am rather fond of the way Aaron looks, but c'mon, he's 6'4"! So, what, at birth, he was probably something around 3'2"? 80 pounds, at least? Sure, the baby's only about a pound now, but we still have four months to go! Yikes!
Hurmph. Aaron has since informed me that I'm being absolutely ridiculous, and that he was only 8 pounds a birth. We'll see . . .
The rest of our appointment was pretty normal. We met with Dr. Abbott, and went over our major concerns. Under his advisement, I'm going to be seeing a neurologist to follow-up on my injuries from the accident. For years during my teens, I had severe, chronic headache. Finally, when I was in college, I sought neurological treatment, and was eventually sent on to physical therapy. The headaches have been gone for several years now, until a month and a half ago, and the whiplash sent them racing right back. It's something to do with these itty bitty, teeny tiny muscles that attach the head to the neck, and mine are all out of whack. Whiplash, you might imagine, would exasperate the situation. Because I'm having such a hard time with, and it's adding further stress to my pregnancy, Dr. Abbott agreed that the best course of action is to see a specialist. The two doctors can work together to decide the best course for getting my poor neck and head back to normal, without doing any potential harm to Charlie. This does mean that we're going to be dragging out the settlement with the Insurance company even more so than it's already been (yes, they've FINALLY accepted full and total liability), but I'd rather be well first, and then figure out compensation.
We also discussed how insane my mood has been lately, with that whole sad/insecure/weepy thing. While Dr. Abbott did say that this kind of mild depression is not necessarily common amongst all pregnant women, he also said that, given my situation, he can understand why I'm feeling the way I am. We discussed the idea of the crazy emotions stemming in part from stress from the accident, my not having felt physically well since the accident, but mostly, we think it has a lot to do with my complete lack of a pregnant/mommy support group to talk to about my insecurities. I love Chelsea, but when it comes to topics such as Does My Lack Of Anal Retentive Cleaning Habits Mean That I Will Be A Bad Mommy, she just doesn't seem to be the best choice for someone to talk to. It's hard, being the first in our group to bravely wander out into unknown adulthood! Dr. Abbott asked if we were planning to take any sort of birthing classes, which didn't seem to make any sense to me in conjunction with our conversation on sad feelings. He then reminded me that, in a class specifically related to pregnancy and birthing, I would be able to meet other expectant mothers, thereby finally finding a community of big pregnant crazy ladies just like me! Somehow, the connection between birthing classes and other pregnant women never clicked in my mind. We had planned all along to take the classes, but now I'm even more eager to start than ever!
So, things are starting to fall more into place now, and I'm feeling better and better with each week that goes by. Aaron's trying to be more helpful, doing little things for me around the house. And the thought that we might soon meet other pregnant couples has cheered me up immensely, because maybe, just maybe, we'll find others who are just as much in the dark as we are! Someone to talk to who really understands... ahhh. Also, Charlie's now very frequent flippy-flopping in my belly is more comforting than almost anything else. It's amazing, they say that the baby has as much awake and asleep time now as he will once he's born, and I can definitely feel the difference already in his sleeping patterns. He's often awake around 2-3 in the afternoon, and then again around 9-10 at night, both times when I usually get tired and a little down. He hasn't started out-right kicking me yet, and all the movement makes it really very difficult to be grumpy or sad in the face of my silly, squirmy constant companion.
And then, just slightly less important and joyous that Charlie himself, we have finally gotten our satellite dish installed again. Sacrilegious to say, maybe, but hallelujah and thank you, God, for satellite TV. Aaron's treating me to 180 channels, HBO, and a DVR recorder to tape shows I might normally miss. Yes, yes, I know that I'm spoiled, and I know that TV will rot my brain and make me into a zombie-mommy, but seriously, what else am I supposed to do when my partner works nights? I'm all alone in the house every week night with only Charlie's little tummy bumps to keep me company, and my concentration is so low that I can't even finish an entire People magazine in one sitting! Shameful, I know, especially being the voracious reader I normally am. So, satellite TV, I love you unabashedly. And I promise all of you that I'll only watch very educational documentaries, so that Charlie can listen in from the womb, and soak up the knowledge pouring forth from our 5 different Discovery channels. Well, ok, I might watch a little trash TV, but only once Charlie has stopped bumping me, and fallen asleep from boredom in the face of yet another Discovery Health expose on potentially dangerous elective facial reconstruction surgeries. Hurrah!