Made in Richmond

We’ll hit 21 weeks on Wednesday. Picture after the jump.
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Friday: Work. Home for about three seconds before heading to the Southside to celebrate my dad’s 60th birthday. Home to lounge and to bed early.

Saturday: Up around 7:30. Puttered and what not. Lunch and maternity clothes shopping with the in-laws. Home for a nap with the hubs. Did some work. Watched some TV and chatted with friends. To bed late.

Sunday: Slept in. Did absolutely nothing all morning. Finally showered at around 2. Church. Dinner at Capital Ale House with friends. Very much in need of an early bed time.

Have a great week!

As time goes on, Shooter gets more tolerant of our girl snuggling him. Maybe because her growing “maturity” keeps her from wiggling and peeing everywhere when he walks into the room.

I once was the owner of a cavernous innie.

Today I approached new belly button territory, courtesy of the wee babe.

It’s true. I’m slowly but surely getting an outtie.

There will be no pictures. I DO HAVE SOME LIMITS.

Everything is fine, perfect, wonderful.

We didn’t see Dr. Christmas. Instead we saw Dr. Head (I think that was it, I wasn’t really listening because I was, oh you know, flipping out). She told us that it was not an amniotic band but some kind of “shelf” that is common and doesn’t pose a threat to the baby.

Speaking of the baby, allow me to show you the cutest face ever created:

Thanks for all of your kind words. We all feel very loved by you, Internets.

Perspective. We have it. The Lord is good.

Our appointment is at 1 today. We will leave at 12:30. I’ve been up since 8 and time is c r a w l i n g by.

Luckily I got some sleep last night, passing out before 11 and sleeping soundly until about 4am when the baby woke me up with a solid kick to the gut. I tossed and turned for a few more hours, drifting in and out, and then finally gave up once the neighbor started doing yard work outside our window.

What was a very uneventful and textbook pregnancy has become, in my mind, an emotional roller coaster in just two days. Today at 1 we will find out what’s next.

Until then, I will walk around muttering, “The baby is fine. The baby will be fine. God is good.”

Say it with me, please.

First, thanks so much for your kind words AND for the collective cooing over our sweet beh beh.

I said yesterday that I wasn’t going to talk about the potential issue, but, surprise I am.

During our ultrasound yesterday, the technician noticed what appeared to an amniotic band close to my cervix. My reactions was “Oh, well, there’s amniotic fluid in there so bands are a thing, I guess.” And we went about our business with the tech mentioning that she was going to ask my doctor about it. After doing so she said that we would take another look at it when they try to get another shot of the baby’s face.

When we got home, I casually searched “amniotic band” on the Internet. And then proceed to dissolve into a puddle of ugly tears because the Internet is horrible for pregnant women and only includes information on the small percentage of people who experience problems because of this “issue.”

So Ross and I go back to the doctor today to sit down with him and discuss everything in more depth. He confirms that it is definitely an amniotic band but, due to its position, he’s not concerned. However, he would like us to go see a perinatal specialist to have it looked at. If there’s a real problem, they can go in and do surgery to correct it. But, he assured us that in his 30 years of practice, he’s seen these a lot and has never delivered a baby who suffered complications from it.

Ross hears “not concerned,” “seen these a lot,” “no complications.”

I hear “definitely,” “perinatal specialist,” and “surgery.”

Because I’m a mother now and that’s what I do.

Oh, and I also fall apart.

I know in my head that everything will be fine. I know in my head that I know this is not a disaster and we could have heard some very devastating news today.

But I also know in my heart that it kills me to think that there’s a chance that something could hurt my baby and, if so, his or her safe little bubble in my belly might have to be disrupted to deal with it.

*UPDATE*

We’re seeing the specialist tomorrow. His name is Dr. Christmas. I’m hoping that’s a sign of good things to come.

We had our 20 week ultrasound today. Here are a couple pictures:

Here we see Flipper in quite the pensive state, hands clasped under his/her chin and resting on his/her giant belly.

And here’s a foot and some toes! (NOM NOM NOM)

He/she is measuring on schedule, has a “perfectly round” head, and is nice and average as far as size. The phrase “This is textbook” was used several times.

We don’t have any shots of the face as the wee one wasn’t cooperating. I go back on July 7 to get another ultrasound done so they can take a look at his/her kisser. I also have to get screened for a potential “issue,” the name of which I’m not telling you because you will Google it and start flipping out like I did. And no, it has nothing to do with the genetic screening we didn’t do. The odds are very low that there’s even a problem, and they just need to take another look to be sure. That’s probably all I’m going to say about it because I’ve already freaked out about it enough tonight.* Instead I will keep looking at the picture of the toes because, seriously, CUTE.

*But I will appreciate any good thoughts and prayers you want to send our way.

Friday: Home after a long week to see my husband who I had barely seen for seven days. Went to the grocery store to pick up fixings for our first semi-healthy, home-cooked meal in a very long time. Took a quick nap while Ross cooked. Up to eat and watch a few episodes of The Dog Whisperer. Went upstairs to lounge. Ross watched the Office on his laptop while I watched Little Women On Demand. Learned that tired pregnant ladies should not watched Little Women. To bed.

Saturday: Up to putter. Went to the gym for the first time in a while. Home to frantically shower and clean before another non-sale-producing showing. Met up with Ross’s parents for lunch. Got ice cream. Passed along a lovely baby hand-me-down to them for storage in their attic. Home to nap. Went to Mary Angela’s to pick up some fresh dough to make our own pizzas (for $2.50! Great deal!). Stopped by Ellwood Thompson’s to get ingredients. Home to fix the pizza. Watched Hot Fuzz while eating. To bed to read and go to sleep.

Sunday: Up to let the dogs out. Ate breakfast. Proceeded to freak out about the house. Went to lunch at Joe’s with some friends. Church. Fabulous dinner and hangouts with new friends. Reading and off to bed soon.

Two bigs things tomorrow: a very interested party is coming to look at the house AND it’s our 20 week ultrasound! Think good thoughts all around!

When John Hughes wrote the script for Pretty in Pink, he originally had Andie and Duckie ending up together. And then people got all uppity, insisting that Andie should end up with stupid Blane (BLANE) because it was more “romantic.”

So, he changed it. And the movie ends at the prom (SPOILER) with Andie making out with stupid Blane in the parking in between his BMW and her piece of crap pink car (yes, I know, a physical representation of two worlds coming together, blah blah blah, thanks Hughes). Duckie ends up making eyes with some blonde chick who would later become the original Buffy, as in Vampire Slayer.

When I saw this movie when I was younger (ok, the 7,324 *thousand* times I saw it) I always thought Duckie was better and nicer and that Andie should have chosen him. Then I didn’t watch the movie for about 6 years.

I watched it again this morning, trying to keep an open mind about the ending, allowing for the possibility that my younger affections for Duckie were based solely on this scene.

But no. Blane just sucks. Oh, and is really boring and with bad hair.