As we were telling people about Meg being pregnant, I was really surprised to see how many people asked if we were going to find out the gender of the baby. The majority wanted to know ahead of time. Brad described it as wanting to open his Christmas presents on Christmas Eve.
Early on, Meg and I both agreed that we didn’t want to know what the baby is. On one hand, it would be easier to plan things out. We could avoid having to a shitload of yellow and green gender-neutral outfits. Then again, we’d just end up with a shitload of blue or pink gender-specific outfits instead, and since current plans have us going the pregnancy route a few more times, it might be more worthwhile to have more neutral clothes.
After talking to so many people who said they’d want to know the gender, we couldn’t help but start to question ourselves. Our curiosity started to get the best of us, and the idea of having to wait another 20 weeks before finding out was starting to drive us insane.
And so, bright and early on Friday morning, we found ourselves sitting half asleep in the doctor’s office awaiting the big 20 week ultrasound.
Actually, that’s not accurate. I was half asleep, watching Good Morning America interview the chick from the crazy bride cutting her hair video. If you haven’t heard of this yet, do a quick google for it. It’s fake, which is pretty obvious when you watch it, but still mildly entertaining. I’ll take the high road and not make a derogatory wedding comment and move on with this post.
Meg, on the other hand, was far from asleep. She was pacing the waiting room uncomfortably. No, she wasn’t nervous. She was full of 32 ounces of water ingested over the course of about 10 minutes. Scientifically speaking, it has something to do with pushing the baby up to where it can be seen. Comically speaking, I thought she was going to piss her pants. I’m getting smart in my old age and tried to distract her from her misery instead of pointing out the obvious humor that third party observers can find in the situation.
They take Meg back to begin but leave me in the waiting room, reassuring me I’ll be able to come in later and see the ultrasound live. I resume my position in my chair and try to angle my head such that I won’t drool all over myself again when I drift off back to sleep.
Somewhere between 5 and 50 minutes pass (yes, I fell asleep again), the nurse hands me a towel to dry the spit off my sweatshirt (yes, I drooled again) and escorts me back to Meg’s room. She’s lying perfectly still on the table. She’s not covered in towels, so I assume they let her go to the bathroom and narrowly avoided a messy situation. Next to her is a big machine with lots of cool buttons. I reach for the ultrasound wand as my mind rapidly debates what I’m going to use it on first. I had barely settled on my own ass being the first avenue for testing my new found x-ray vision when it’s forcefully taken from me and I’m told to stand in the corner. First they take away the registry scanner and now the ultrasound wand; I am Jay’s inflamed sense of rejection.
Meg and I looked at each other with an uneasy glance. We both realized that neither of us had the kind of conviction in not finding out what the baby is that we expected to. The nurse slides around the wand and settles in on a view that made it pretty obvious what the baby was.
It’s a monkey. And it’s giving me the finger.
Look at the picture [Update: I need to re-add the picture to this entry, which will make it a lot funnier]. Round head, round pushed out lips… there’s even a white mark on the side that looks like a monkey’s ear. As for the hand, it’s either picking its nose or giving me the finger. Either way, you don’t need a DNA test to prove I’m the father.
I originally got yelled at for calling the kid a monkey. However, the term was quickly accepted by Meg, and now we use “the monkey” as a nice, gender-neutral substitute for saying “him” or “her”. The nurse didn’t even bother to look for the gender, since we didn’t ask her to. So at least it’s not like some random doctor knows; no one does, and that makes us feel a bit better.
The ultrasound itself is amazing. You can see the rib cage, each little vertebrae on the spine, and all four chambers of the heart. They apparently counted fingers and toes before I got in there.
“There’s the head. And there are the feet.”
The feet and head were touching. Great, the kid is going to be a porn star.
“There’s the rump.”
“The kid has a nice ass, just like the father.”
I even got a blank stare from the nurse who just happened to be walking by the door at the time. Not that I’m trying, but I seem to have an innate ability to make everyone baby-related that we come in contact with feel awkward. Meg realized that after dealing with me, there’s very little the child could say in public that would prove embarrassing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m 100% happy that everything is going well and the baby is healthy. Though if there were any sort of issue, such as not being able to see clearly, we’d get to go back and do it again. I have to admit, it would have been cool to have to go back. But as of right now, this is the last time we get to see the kid until it’s actually born.
The rest of the pictures that we got to keep are in the gallery.