Scan by Scan: part 2

I guess I should relate the story of the last scan, now more than 6 weeks ago. W was asked to have a sugary drink beforehand but Flaily decided not to co-operate. We also had a frosty reception from the new sonographer (our fault). 

Sonographer: So, have you got your notes? 
W: Oh... no... sorry... we left then on the living room table. The lady at reception said it would be OK. 
Sonographer: Well, it isn't. 
W: Sorry. 

This leaves W and me feeling like we've done our homework but not brought it into class for marking. As we're conscientous people, we are mortified and have been duly told off. Slowly, the dark space of the monitor screen is enlivened by the little one. Again, we are in awe. The sonographer checks we are OK with knowing gender if it should become apparent. 

Sonographer: Doesn't appear to be moving much - curled up and facing away from us. Did you have a sugary drink?
W: Oh yes. About 10 minutes ago.

It's true and we want her to believe us. We are not really naughty children.  

Sonographer: Might have to be star jumps in the loo for you.
W: OK...
Sonographer: Don't worry... this happens sometimes.

Flaily deigns to stretch a leg.

Sonographer: I can see the femur... but still need to measure it. And did you see that? 

We have both already caught a glimpse of something else. The world goes into slow motion and I, for one, can't quite compute the obvious, at least not into words. Even now, when I look back, I can't work out if it's because I convinced myself it would be a girl or because reality was showing me a subconscious wish. We share a glance. 

Sonographer: I don't think there's much doubt there. He's not playing ball. I'll see someone else and you can come back in about 15 minutes. Have a coffee or a coke. 

W has not been near any source of caffeine for quite some time. We head to the nearby hospital cafe where she has a chocolate pastry and her first latte for 6 months.

W: Well he wasn't afraid to show us that was he?
Me: Nope.
W: (impersonating Flaily) And if I just uncross my legs... look what I've got!
Me: It's such a cliche, but you really couldn't miss it. 

Back with the sonographer for a third time that morning, W is feeling perky to say the least. 

Sonographer: Right, we're seeing some movement now... good, I can measure the femur. 

pause 

Sonographer: Lovely, but he's still not co-operating. I need to see the heart and the face. I suggest you have something else or you'll have to come back another day. 

W: Really? 

Back outside the room, I have rushed out to get a can of coke and a Yorkie bar (with the terrible slogan 'not for girls' on the wrapper). W eats the bar, really not enjoying it. She downs the coke too. Back in the room, Flaily is finally living up to his name. 

Sonographer: That's better.

He (it's amazing how quickly you adapt to the gender-specific pronoun) has started moving. The sonographer can measure the compartments of the heart and the blood flow between them. She also checks the face for signs of cleft palate. 

We leave the hospital dazed and amazed. W is on a caffeine buzz that keeps her working past 8pm.

All in a Name

We're not going to declare our favourite names here, but there are a number of inspirational sources available. The process is summed up brilliantly by this xkcd cartoon.

Me:  I tried the random baby name shuffle at babycentre.
W: What did you get?
Me: You'll never guess...
W: Try me.
Me: (pause for effect) Titan.
W: (laughs) It's not going to pass the high court justice test is it?
Me: I can't see him calling any court to order with that name.
W: Try another...
Me: OK.... Bimb.
W: What?
Me: Bimb. It's of Hindu origin.
W: Try again.
Me: OK... one more... Bob.
W: You're kidding? Not Robert?
Me: Just plain Bob.
W: Very Blackadder.
Me: Bob!
W: Bob!
Me: Bob!
W: Bob!

The scene continues ad infinitum as we say Bob in a variety of voices.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

As Flaily's audio equipment is evolving, it sometimes gives us licence to say odd things to the bump. 

W: (after a kicking fest) Bad baby!
Me: Hey, we don't want to give him a poor idea of himself.
W: A little chastisement is fine.
Me: I'm not so sure...

Pause, I get closer to the bump.

Me: Good baby!
W: Oh great, it's going to work like that eh? Mummy's all stern and horrible and Daddy's the nice one...?
Me: May be you could say, 'Good baby'?
W: He's kicking my bladder!
Me: Well he doesn't know that...
W: Ow! He did it again. Little rotter!
Me: I quite like that.
W: You want me to say 'Little rotter' instead?
Me: You say it so nicely...
W: So telling him off with a good voice is better? This could get very confusing for the little blighter.
Me: That's a good one, use that too.

The Kick List

At 24-odd weeks, a foetus begins to become more aware of its surroundings. We're not talking full conversation or anything - he's in a womb, remember? But we've started a short list of things that shouldn't be rested on the bump or situations that Flaily is not happy with. There have been kicking protests at the following...


A cold glass of water  
W: Look, look! I rested it for a sec and he's kicking it away. 
Me: Can he feel it? 
W: May be... 
Me: I'm going to have look this up... I'll ask the Google. 

Management meetings
W: Flaily was kicking up a storm today during one my meetings... 
Me: Was he objecting to anything in particular? 
W: Perhaps just the concept of meetings? 

Pillows on W's lefthand side
W: It's got to be the righthand side for him to be happy and for me to get any sleep. 

Harry Potter and the Deathy Hallows (hardback)
W: This must not be a sign of his future feelings towards the boy wizard.
Me: He'll be OK. We'll read them all to him as bedtime stories.
W: And I really want to buy the Lego!
Me: That castle looks awesome!

The list will get longer no doubt. Watch this space.

Scan by Scan: part 1

Funny how a few months, a few moments even, can change a life. I thought it might be interesting to look back at our scan history.

8-week scan
This was an unexpected event due to spotting. I couldn't be there and the first I heard about it was through a thoroughly well-crafted e-mail from W that allayed all fears, even if W was probably worrying herself silly. One very good result was that W got hear a heartbeat and we gained a picture of... a blob.

12-week scan
Bladder full, W is on the bed and the sonographer starts rubbing gel over W's tummy. I feel like a spare part.

Sonographer: (wielding the echo transducer - that's the wandy thingy that looks like an elongated roll-on deodorant) Let's see what we can see. Have you been to the toilet in the past hour?
W: No, I'm holding it in.
Sonographer: Lovely.

She pushes the skin, hardly even a bump, from side to side with the scan wand, all the time looking up and across at the monitor. I know that my own mouth is hanging open in wonder at the glimpses of first a clear spine - a distinct, curved white shaft that emerges from the darkness - then a hand, a foot, a head, a heart... 

Sonographer: A clear picture, you certainly have been holding it in.
W: (proudly) I like to do things correctly.
Sonographer: Best one we've had all day. Sometimes people can't do it and go to the loo before they get in here.
W: What's the point of that?
Sonographer: Exactly. I have to make them come back.
Me: Yay! We're the best! (to my credit, I do not go any further and say somehting like 'Three gold stars to us')

We spend more time looking at the foetus, from the side and also in cross sections through the body from head to toe (I didn't know they could do that). Side on, he/she/it is now less clear.

Sonographer: ...keeps turning away...
W: Recalcitrant little person...
Me: I guess he doesn't want to be seen.
W: He?

I wonder where this slip comes from. In my own mind, I believe it's going to be a girl but I still try to defend my statement.

Me: You know, he's (I do it again), well, er.... got a big head. I had a big head when I was born.
W: All babies look like they have a big head in proportion to their bodies. That doesn't mean anything.

The sonographer nods in agreement and smiles.

Me: Something just made me want to say 'he'...

We are mesmerised for a few more minutes as the sonographer does the nuchal fold test. It's hard to pin down the foetus, due to movement, but eventually the nurse gets the readings she needs. 

Sonographer: Thank you. You can go to the loo now.
W: Relief. (giving me a look) He?!


Afterwards, we decide that Blob should now be called Flaily, in honour of its performance today. Welcome Flaily.

Sick Bag

We're on a pleasant trip to a country house in Hampshire. When we get there, W is feeling ill. A combination of winding roads, a large breakfast and a residual morning sickness do not bode well. Mother-in-Law (MiL) has already gone ahead at this point.

Me: How are you doing?
W: Not good.

Pause

W: Have you got something I can use?
Me: Use? Oh, I see. (searching around, I find a M&S bag in my pocket).
W: Why've you got that?
Me: Shopping, I always carry one. They make you pay 5p for that.

A veritable torrent later and we discover the bag has a few holes.

W: Great! New jeans as well.
Me: Oh dear. It seems to have caught most of it.
W: Lucky you had it.
Me: This isn't just any bag, it's an M&S bag.

I spend the next few minutes wandering around a National Trust car park with a bag of sick. There is no bin. Fortunately, closer to the stately home visitor centre, I find a small receptacle. Lifting the bag is not easy and a small dribble runs down the side of the bin. At least no one has seen me. I'm pretty chuffed that I'm relatively unperturbed. I feel this is good preparation for the baby mess ahead.

Carrying Time

The Mother-in-Law (MiL) is on holiday with us and we've been having a few (nice) conversations about future responsibilities. For example, we were on a walk and W was getting very tired...

W: I'm carrying extra weight now. Phew.
Me: You OK?
W: Yeah, I'll be fine.

Pause, we stop walking.

W: Nine months I'll be carrying this around.
Me: I know. I'll do my bit. I'll do all the carrying when it's born.
MiL: Sounds good.
Me: I reckon til about 18 months should do it.
MiL: Yes, but you've got to remember that she's doing it continuously, day and night.
Me: Oh, alright then. About... 3 years?
W: Yeah but when you carry, you're probably not going to be doing it for more than an hour at a time.
MiL: If it's going to be even, then about 8 years total should do it.
Me: Crikey!
W: (smiles)
Me: I can see why you're tired.
W: I've racked up about 4 years so far
Me: Mind you, 4 years and it'll be walking....
W: There'll be plenty of other things for you to do...
Me: I'm sure.