Boy or Girl?

That's the 64 thousand dollar question we thought we'd get an answer to on Wednesday when we went to the ultrasound where the sonographer did the 'anatomy check.' 

Before the visit, we were both 90% sure we'd end up with frank and beans this time. Just the way the doctors and nurses mentioned "seeing something" and the feel of this pregnancy, and the other women who took the thuoc bac who all had boys led us to this scientific conclusion. 

But the woman who did our exam squashed any confidence we had. She was very nice, and she even said multiple times how easy it was to do the exam on me because I was "so skinny." What's not to like about a healthcare professional like that? "Skinny" and "pregnant woman" are never in the same room let alone sentence. And she was a refreshing break from the stern Russian women who don't say much and smile even less; they are all business in measuring kidneys and skull circumference.

It didn't help that I couldn't see the monitor, so I had to crane my head to make out about 5% of the screen, while pinching a nerve in my neck. Because our last pregnancy was pseudo-risky (due to a bright spot on Emmy's bowel that our doctor wanted to keep an eye on) we went to a specialist every month for an ultrasound, and the exam rooms were state of the art. There was a monitor mounted at the foot of the exam bed so the moms to be could see everything the techs were seeing. It was the best part of the month--getting to see the little growing baby swimming around in my belly.

This time, not so much. I'm glad we don't have to go to any specialists, but the exam rooms are not set up to show Mom anything. They didn't even have a .69 cent hand held mirror in the room that I could hold to at least see the reflection of the monitor.

So the 45 minutes of lying there felt like a long, boring time. And when we asked her to please jot down the sex of the baby and put it in an envelope, she was like, "Oh, OK...well initially I thought one thing, but now I'm not sure." We were like, "Oh just take your best guess and put down a percentage for how certain you are."

After some back and forth, she leaves and comes back and says, "I wrote it down, and I stuck to my original thought...but I'm only about 80% sure. So don't hold me to it!" 

The envelope sits in some hidden spot now that The Good Doctor is in charge of. Maybe we'll open it at Christmas with all the family, but even then, I don't know how much stock we can put in the verdict, which sort of defeats the whole purpose of knowing in advance. 

Maybe it's supposed to be a surprise after all. Either way, we're definitely doing the baby cake--what a genius idea!

Oh how I long for a Russian sonographer now. She would've put the sex of the baby in the envelope, sealed it, and given us a 100% nod to the result. That's how the KGB trains you. No mistakes, no second guessing, no wishy washy. Otherwise PEOPLE DIE.