He wasn't too concerned, mostly because in extremely petite women and in there opposite counterparts-ones like me that have long upper bodies-uterine measurements can often be deceiving. But they still like to see your uterine measurement in centimeters matching your pregnancy in weeks; and at thirty two weeks pregnant, I was measuring just short of twenty nine centimeters.
Nothing too discerning, but when coupled with the fact that my tiny human felt like it had experienced a major growth spurt in the last two weeks according to my doctors palpitations from the outside, it was enough to recommend a growth scan to determine the cause of my uterus falling behind.
I was thrilled for another opportunity to see my little one, but a little nervous because I was told I wouldn't be getting another ultra sound unless we ran into a problem. And though measuring just a bit behind could simply be due to my body type, the baby's position in my uterus or for no good reason at all, it could also mean a lack of fluid, an unhealthy baby or even a major uterine problem.
So at today's ultrasound, I laid quietly on the table for what felt like eternity while the technician took the measurements she needed, and I studied her poker face to no avail. I wanted so badly to ask her a million questions, but all I could manage to say was that we didn't know the gender and we were keeping it a surprise, to which she quickly nodded and confirmed in her thick accent that she would respect our wishes.
And when she was through, she turned the screen towards my husband and I, and showed us a a pair of feet.
Perfect, fat little feet.
And though she couldn't disclose all of the information until the doctor had examined her measurements, she brought us relief by letting us know that she saw nothing of concern. Just some chubby cheeks and chunky thighs, attached to a four and a half pound bundle of perfection.
My uterus may be measuring behind, my child most certainly is not. And this makes me happy, since I'm pretty sure that I myself came into this world in the form of a bald spider monkey.
And though we told the technician that the gender was to remain a surprise, I'm almost positive she referred to my not-so-tiny human as he on more than one occasion, but I may be wrong. It could have been her heavy accent, or the fact that in some cultures you just refer to the baby as he out of respect since it doesn't sound nearly as grammatically correct when discussing a baby, but still.
Back at twenty four weeks when we were having an ultrasound done to determine the cause of ferning, our doctor referred to the baby a he while operating the sonogram wand. And when I asked him if he just let the gender of our child slip out, he looked confused and told me he was only saying that because I had refered to the baby as a he earlier. Then before I realized what was happening, he dropped down to the area in question on the anchient, fuzzy screen and mumbled quietly to himself that he didn't see anything dangling, so his guess at this point would be a girl.
And then as my heart began to beat out of my chest, I gently reminded him that we were just going to keep it a surprise, so there was really no need to examine the issue further. He immediatly sat back up straight, moved to another section of my child, smiled and congratulated me on a healthy baby and the strength to wait and see what God had in store for us.
So even though I never let myself fully commit to expecting a little princess, I never could shake the feeling that despite everyone saying this child would be a boy due to old wives tales and intuitive feelings, I may very well be housing a little lady.
Because since I was little, I always knew I'd have a girl first, there was never a question. And when we started trying to conceive four very long years ago, girl clothes, hair bows, purple nursery designs and classic, feminine names filled my thoughts and my heart.
But when I found out I was finally pregnant, everything clouded.
Suddenly, the little girl I always knew I'd have wasn't in the forefront of my mind any longer, because I could also see a little boy that looked just like my husband when I closed my eyes. And maybe it was the opinions of so many others that swayed me to change my mind, or the fact that my husband-though he undoubtedly would love either gender-would prefer a son just because that's what men do, but I realized that I would truly be happy with either one.
So when the doctor revealed his guess at a quick glance to be a girl, I was thrilled. I felt a little sorry for my husband and his dreams of raising a football star that would easily result from the mix of my families height and his build, but I was still ecstatic for a sweet baby girl nonetheless.
And today, when the ultrasound tech with her strange, foreign accent referred to my not-so-tiny anymore human as he, I was just as thrilled. Though I felt sorry for my mother, who desperately needs a granddaughter to balance out the four grandsons she already has, I was still excited about the possibility of birthing and raising a little man.
So despite the fact that the technician may have-or may not have-revealed the gender of our child today, I'm thankful that the outcome now reverts back to a surprise. I now have the suspense and anticipation back that I missed so much after hearing that our doctors guess-at-a-glance on an old, beat up ultrasound machine would have been girl, as it is now accompanied by the possibility of a thick accent saying the word he on several occasions.
And winning me over again in redemption of her possible mistake, the ultrasound technician did save the day by pointing out the thick layer of fuzz surrounding my child's head and made it known that our baby certainly would not be bald, in turn excusing her for any surprises she may-or may not have-ruined.
Girl or boy, this healthy, chubby little miracle already has my heart. We are so very close to the day when our questions will be answered, a name will be chosen and my world will change forever, and I find myself wishing it would hurry up and praying time would stand still in the same breath.
I'll finally have a baby of my own in seven and a half weeks-give or take a week or two-and I still can't wrap my head around the miracle of it all. Even the constant, gentle movement of my little one inside of my crammed uterus isn't enough to convince me that this is real, and I am in fact carrying a tiny blessing around with me everywhere I go.
Most of the time I can't wait to meet this little human, but it also breaks my heart to have this pregnancy come to an end. I never thought I could feel so many emotions at once, carry so much love for such a tiny pair of feet, or feel so terrified and sure of myself about an upcoming event at the same time.
I must be going crazy.
Or perhaps I'm just becoming a mother.
"With what price we pay for the glory of motherhood."