Thursday,
December 13, 2001.
Amy's latest weight: 132 lbs (18.5 weeks).
Gym Survival
Tip for Girls: By Sonnie
(Dec.13th entry).
Check out her Korean
cartoon painting too (Dec.9th entry)!
WOMB RAIDER
"Meet me by the cafeteria elevators at 10 minutes to one," Amy told me on the phone.
Yesterday was a big day for us. All three of us. For it was the day we were going to play the Find the Hot Pepper Game (or Not) in the Fetal Imaging department of my hospital.
"Hot pepper" is a Korean euphemism for "penis."
We were going to find out the baby's sex on ultrasound. Amy was sure it was a boy. I thought it would be a girl. (Place your bets now before the entry ends.)
At 1 P.M., I met Amy, still in her white coat, and we walked over to the Fetal Imaging Center. Yet another part of the hospital I've never been in after five years here.
In the waiting room, we sat across from another couple. They tried sneaking peeks at us when we weren't looking, noting how Amy was holding my hand. We were both in our white coats. I always feel a little uncomfortable trying to act like a normal person in my white coat.
"I haven't eaten all day," I whispered to Amy.
"Hurry up and go to the vending machine downstairs," she told me.
So I did. Probably not a good idea in retrospect but I was starving. I ended up losing my last 95 cents in a vending machine (and not getting anything for it). Ran to an ATM for cash then to the hospital gift shop. Paid entirely too much for a gift box of peanut clusters, my lunch.
(Ironically, the cafeteria wasn't an option today because it was the Annual Free Christmas Dinner which meant a 30-minute wait in line which is 28 minutes more than I care to wait and 20 minutes more than it takes me to eat.)
When I finally found the waiting room again it was empty. (The box of peanut clusters was half empty by now as well.) Panic!!
"Room five," the clerk points to a door.
Two doors (and two more peanut clusters) later, I saw Amy lying on her back in the ultrasound room. Smiling. Fuzzy images on a TV on the ceiling.
I sat beside her. The tech rolled the ultrasound gel and wand on Amy's belly.
I saw the baby's radius and ulna -- an arm! Oh my God, it's moving, I thought. Baby's awake and moving his arms! (Just like daddy listening to techno queen Lee Jung Hyun!!)
"This is the shoulder to elbow. Here, the elbow to hand," the tech pointed out.
Amy laughed in glee, and said,"The ultrasound, it tickles, hahaha!"
I love hearing and seeing Amy laugh like that. She's happiest at those times.
Amy was still smiling as we gazed at the rest of our baby. A head. A face (according to the tech). Two little feet together. One arm by it's face. The other by baby's side. Our baby squirming and moving around."You wanted to know the sex?" the tech confirms.
"Yeah, I think it's going to be a boy. I had a dream," Amy says.
Two legs in a snowstorm. Something in between. Baby's not shy. In fact, baby's mooning us.
"Here's one leg," the tech says, "Here's the other. And this is the penis. It's a boy."
"Is this 100% accurate?" I ask.
I heard fetal ultrasounds are about 70% accurate. Maybe it was an umbilical cord? Or a hypertrophied clitoris?
"Yes it's definite," the tech answers.
Wow. A boy. A little man inside of Amy's belly. His mother. That would make me his "Dad"? Oh my God! Am I supposed to know Dad stuff now? What the hell is Dad stuff anyways?
I was happy but then I started thinking of myself as a boy, and all the trouble that I almost got into, saved by luck, circumstance, and good evasive techniques.
I don't want this boy to be like me. I don't even know what "me" IS half of the time. I'm too sensitive most of the time. Introverted. In middle and high school I was practically a time bomb waiting for someone to push the wrong button. No one did. But what if someone had? Sure, I did well in school. But I was driven by competitive vengeance, not by some desire to help my fellow man. Then there was that awkward painful phase between ages 8 to 24. Oh man, will my boy have to go through that too?
So these doubts, silly or not, suddenly surfaced. I guess it all became even more real to me then. Seeing the little guy doing the Running Man dance in Amy's womb. Not knowing what's waiting on the other side for him.
I'm excited about it though, even more now. We've got a sweet Asian boy on the way. He'll probably have wild crazy hair too. A sweet baby boy.
I can already visualize what Amy will look like holding him in her arms too.
She'll be smiling and giggling, just like she when she was being tickled by that ultrasound on her belly.
She's happiest at those times.
And therefore, so am I.
(Athena had her baby pictures yesterday too!!
How strange is that?)
___________________________________________________________________________
THIS BIGLater that evening.
"So how long is the baby? Did the tech say?" I ask at the Korean restaurant (yeah, we eat out a lot).
"She said it's 8 ounces," Amy answers.
"How big is that?" I wonder.
"Well, a can of Diet Coke is 12 ounces. And this soy sauce bottle is ... 5 ounces. So baby is probably this big," Amy
measures.
"That's huge!" I am genuinely shocked at Baby Boy's size already. He's a little person already!
The Korean waitress comes by and sets out our puncheon, various little Korean appetizers, in separate little bowls. Each different in taste and texture but each delicious in their own way.
The waitress is probably near forty but humbly stunning. Short with narrow creaseless eyes and a sharp smile. Yes, actually smiling at us, because she recognizes us by now (several 20% tips, remember?). Did I mention she has a beautiful smile.
I briefly realize that I won't have my own little girl to smile at me any time soon. Selfish thoughts I know. But after having so much fun with my nieces, I kind of had it in my heart and mind that I was going to have a little girl smiling up at me the way my nieces smile at their daddy.
But I'll have a sweet little boy with crazy hair and shiny eyes smiling at me instead. Which is just as good.
And who knows, maybe I'll have my own little girl smiling at me someday as well.
Until then, I guess it's back to the drawing board.
As they say.
