New Release: The Deuce in 3D

28 week ultrasound yesterday was uneventful.  I mean, it was eventful in that our ultrasound tech was a student (seriously?  like I don't deal with enough students on a daily basis?) so it took her forever to take all the measurements (although she was super nice and really cute), and then the measurements had to be double-checked by a not-student tech (because nothing says fun like having ultrasound goop on your belly for forty-five minutes), and at one point they asked if I was doing okay and I wanted to scream "My God I am FINE just hurry the hell UP."  Instead I just said, "I'm fine."

Also the ultrasound goop got all over my pants.

But it was uneventful in that the Deuce is still growing on schedule and kicking around.  Fluid levels look good.  Everything still in line and baby measured in 47th percentile so let's just hope we stay nice and AVERAGE and NORMAL and the doctors keep SMILING when they walk into the room to talk to us.  (Not that one doctor.  The ultrasound student had no idea I'd lost my first baby until I told her--is this shit not written on my CHART?--but she knew that there was one doctor on staff that I would NOT be seeing.)

After the ultrasound, I insisted on getting the paper print out (because I want to LOOK at the measurements you've assured me are FINE and decide for myself) and then we trekked next door to meet with my OB and discuss the fact that the Deuce is currently breech (lots of time for that to change, though, so fingers crossed) and that my iron level is just a smidge low (11.6 when "normal" is 11.7).  I promised to eat iron-rich foods (although no liver for me--gag, gag) and my OB said I could wait on taking a supplement in order to avoid Serious Constipation Issues (ack!).  I felt better about waiting because he said the iron is to make sure that my levels are high enough to avoid any complications with blood loss during delivery--in other words, baby is getting what he/she needs without supplements.  So I'm eating lots of Total cereal and spinach and nuts and I get another blood draw in two weeks (Yay.  My favorite thing to do).  Hopefully I'll be back in the normal range.

Speaking of "normal" range...  My own weight gain looks like I should probably quit eating so many donuts (David totally sold out my donut cravings to my OB, who kindly suggested that I cut back to HALF a donut PER WEEK--seriously?  I mean, why even bother?).  I am getting Third Trimester Pregnancy Fat Face, so vanity will probably do more than medicinal advice to reduce donut consumption at this point.  (For the record, I NEVER eat/crave donuts when I am not pregnant.  Well, I mean, I would eat one if it were offered to me, but David and I do not go fetch them on Saturday mornings as we have been doing lately...)

I left the two appointments feeling totally drained, AND with my gmail calendar booked with WEEKLY appointments starting next Monday.

In spite of all the doctor talk, all the monitoring, the nightly kick counts, the *cough* twenty-nine *cough* extra pounds I'm lugging around, there is still a huge part of me that does not believe we are actually getting a baby at the end of this.

But at the end of my appointment, the ultrasound tech (probably to show off to the student tech) asked me if I wanted a 3D look at the baby.  I told her that we hadn't had one yet, so that would be great.  Unfortunately, the cord was floating in front of the baby's face, and the tech was like, "Do not freak out!  That is not your baby's face.  That is the cord."  So we got a little glimpse of the Deuce's face--really, just the nose and mouth--but it was enough to give me a little moment of "Holy shit, there is a person in there."

***

When I first got pregnant, I told David that I hoped Baby Duck had his nose.  I love David's nose.  It's so nice and streamlined and I just love it.

Later that night we were walking the dogs, and David turned to me out of the blue and smiled and said, "How 'bout the Deuce's nose?"

I started cracking up laughing.  I said, "That's a little button nose."

He said, "Well, that is not my nose."

No, sirree.  It is not.  The Deucers most definitely has MY nose.

Ignore the gross umbilical cord gunk floating 'round the face and blocking the eye.  Just look at the nose.

And then look at it on me, around the age of 1:

I mean SERIOUSLY.  That is one dominant nose-gene.

Oh--and if you think you've seen this SAME nose once before, you might be remembering this portrait:

Yes, here it is again.

David is totally hoping that his athletic genes are not as recessive as his nose genes apparently are.

As the Deuce's due date approaches, I feel myself longing for Eliza even more.  I love to think of this silly little connection between my two babies.  And I can't wait for the Deuce to get here so I can kiss the hell out of that nose.