Today we had another appointment with our high-risk team, to check on Baby
[Name Redacted] Little Brother’s heart.
As far as we knew, there was nothing wrong with his heart, but a Fetal Heart Echo is standard for 1) IVF pregnancies (which this was not, but I guess history counts for something?) and 2) anyone who has gestational/good ole’ regular diabetes.
His little heart looked perfect, and so did his itty bitty wittle face (pardon me, I’m biased).
I also had them confirm for me that he is, for sure, a he, since I finally broke down and started buying things I need (but also mostly DO NOT need, namely: tiny baby clothes).
While I was there, they also did a quick growth scan, and he’s currently measuring right on target for his gestational age, and is weighing in at a hefty 1 lb, 1 oz. Gus’ growth didn’t start to slow down until around 28 weeks, so I’m scheduled for another checkup with them next month to keep an eye on things.
And, speaking of Gus, I think we have a little clone coming our way (which, again, totally biased, but it’s going to be adorable in here).
(big brother/little brother)
17 weeks to go!
I’m still here.
Still (miraculously, amazingly, unexpectedly) (18 weeks!) pregnant.
We’ve told our families (shock!) and our friends (awe!) and all my new various doctors (confusion!) and I’ve technically told the internet full of strangers (hello!) but we haven’t made anything Facebook official.
Eh, I don’t know. Probably because every time I tell one new person my first thought is, “WHAT HAVE I DONE?!” and every time I purchase a new baby outfit (twice) I immediately think, “YOU MONSTER, YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING.”
So, I guess you could say I’m dealing with a little bit of anxiety.
Despite having four or five ultrasounds now, and doctors repeatedly finding the heartbeat on the doppler, and maybe feeling something kick me sometimes, I’m still finding it a little bit difficult to believe this is happening. That it’s happened at all. That it will continue to happen.
Someone asked me a few weeks ago when I felt confident in my pregnancy with Gus, and I told them, completely honestly, when I was walking into Labor & Delivery and my contractions we’re two minutes apart.
And yet, I am surprisingly less anxious than I was back then. Maybe it’s the fact that now I no longer feel the pressure of being barren forever. Maybe my cold agnostic heart has been touched by a freaking angel, and I can’t help but feel like this is something that is supposed to happen.
Time will tell, I guess.
So far, so good.
Next week, I’m throwing my BFF a party to celebrate his 30th birthday.
First of all, I’ve been friends with this man since 2001. I’d say I’ve been best friends with him since… 2004? And even now, after 11 years of friendship, I keep learning new things about him.
Like, he is irrationally afraid of things. Particularly seagulls. And he hates anything that touches his neck. His biggest fear, is that a seagull will attack, and go for his throat. But I’ve known this for awhile. (Our other best friend is afraid of mascots. Ironically, our college mascot was a giant seagull — so they were both essentially terrified for four straight years.)
He also hates surprises.
This was new information for me.
I happen to love surprises. But I’m nosey, and sneaky, and am therefore rarely surprised by anything. Maybe that’s why I love them so much — because they are few and far between.
Anyway, in an attempt to not kill my best friend via heart attack, I decided to include him in the party planning.
It went like this:
Me: Do you want to have your birthday party at my house, and do you want to eat bacon pizzas?
Him: Yes. And yes. I think the party should have a theme. Bacon is a good theme. Bacon and pajamas.
Me: Mike just pointed out that he sleeps naked, so I guess that’s your present.
And that’s how I found myself planning a bacon-centric birthday party. I even found bacon desserts (but have decided to improvise a new favorite to include bacon, I think).
Our sole vegetarian friend is really out of luck.
But the rest of us are really looking forward to it.
Someone left this little guy on our doorstep last night:
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to leave this morning, and there was a gourd-baby staring up at me.
I’m not sure if he’s a goose or a snake? I think he’s a little bit of both. So he’s sort of like a Basilisk?
Clearly, I need to be more specific when asking the stork for babies.
I asked Mike if we could keep him, and he said yes (but I’m pretty sure what he meant was, “yes, until he rots.”)
Oh, you want to know his name?
Gordon Bombay Schall.
Welcome to the family, Gordon.