Somewhere along the line, I learned the little sing-songy phrase, "Here I sit, on two little chips, come and kiss my pretty little lips"...well, according to my last doctor's appointment, nobody is going to be kissing my pretty little lips for at least five more months. I have been placed on "pelvic rest", which basically means no extracurriculars in the bedroom. I feel like I have to point out here that my husband did not seem that upset by the news, which I found pretty offensive.
The latest development came after one of the more frustrating doctor's appointments that I have ever had. I was in for my big 20 weeker, which for most women means you can find out the sex of the baby. We went in knowing that we had a bouncing baby boy on the way, so I was ready to settle in and enjoy the show.
Just as an aside, I find ultrasound rooms awkward, there you are with your shirt jerked up around your neck and jelly smeared all over your body while everyone else stands around fully clothed. Makes me feel at a real disadvantage in the event of a emergency situation (fire, flood, what have you).
By law, ultrasound techs cannot make any diagnosis, they have to wait for an actual doctor to let you know if anything is wrong. We knew almost immediately that something was not right. No, not because we are ultrasound savants and noticed something alarming on the screen (the little guy looked fine to me, waving his arms around to beat the band). It was mostly that our particular tech did not let the law stop her from making all kind of tskking and mmmm-mmming sounds. Parke and I immediately went on high alert, peppering her with questions as to what exactly was wrong. After comforting comments like,"I don't know how to say this without making it sound scary" and "I can't say, but I haven't seen something like this in so many years I don't remember the name of it", Little Miss Subtle went to retrieve the doctor.
So, there we sat for upwards of 30 minutes, waiting on the doctor to come in and drop the bomb. We sat for so long the goo dried on my stomach and hardened into a little mold of my belly button.
Finally, the doctor flies in, makes a diagnoses that involved a lot of hand motions, that to me looked like when paper beats rock (thankfully, there were no scissors). What it basically boiled down to was that while the baby is fine, his umbilical cord is all wonky and in a place that could cause me to have a C-section. Also, no sex, running, lifting, taking hot baths, getting hot in general, or doing anything remotely fun(in additon to not being able to eat or drink anything found outside of the organic food section). And then she was gone.
So, now it is the weekend. Obviously and most importantly, I am beyond thrilled that our baby is fine. That said, this really sucks. I am basically allowed to sit on my rapidly growing behind and watch TV while my husband (helpfully) is surfing. Here I sit, with two bags of chips, with nobody to kiss my big fat lips. At least there are salt and vinegar...yum.