Ultrasound Retro-diary: It's a girl?

Yesterday we had an ultrasound appointment. The ultrasound appointment. The one where we finally got to learn the sex of the baby. I was inspired by one of my favorite sports writers to do a retro-diary. In other words, the following is a play-by-play account of yesterday's events. It was a long day, and a long appointment, but in the end we got the results.

3/1/12 4:00 p.m.
We are at the clinic now. We had an appointment earlier with the regular baby doctor. Everything there went well; the pregnancy is progressing on track to the July 20th arrival. Our appointment is scheduled for 4:30, but because we are excited we decided to arrive early in case there are any cancellations or what not. I have to admit, I am having a mild panic attack.

I think it's a boy. I have thought that from the very beginning with a certainty that I can only describe as "father's intuition." Most of my family agrees with me, while my wife's family says girl.

Before I go any further, I should say that I will be thrilled with either a boy or a girl. Yet, there is something that makes me lean more towards a boy. I'm not sure if it's something personal, cultural, or something else, but I think I would be a better father to a boy. I feel like it would be easier to relate to a boy.

At the risk of sounding vulnerable, I think a girl would have me wrapped around her little finger. That is what I'm afraid of, and I don't know if I'm ready for it. Eventually I will be, but not today.

4:15ish
So here we are in the waiting room, waiting. A tech comes to the waiting room, we hold our breath, and they call someone else. We are early; maybe we should have waited to come until the actual appointment time. Time has slowed to just under a crawl. This whole week has felt that way, but right now that sensation has been amplified.

4:21
I have to remind myself to breathe. If I feel like this now, how will I feel during the birth? I can't think about that now; if I dwell on it too much, I will go into a full-fledged panic attack.

This ESPN magazine is from November. Because nothing has happened in sports since then.

It's cold in this room, and it is not helping. The magnitude of the occasion is starting to sink in even more. I am desperately looking for a paper bag to hyperventilate into.

French Stewart/Ultrasound tech

4:29.9
Ultrasound tech call us in. I can't help but think that he he looks like French Stewart.

4:38
Baby on the screen. The image is very blurry, and I don't know what I'm looking at. I'm learning that there is an art to being an ultrasound tech, and French Stewart is a master. We are looking at the face. now. I can't be sure, but I think the baby has my eyes.

My hands are shaking as I write this. We have a momentary lull in the action while the tech does some technical stuff. I'm secure enough to admit that I have no idea what I'm looking at. Most of what he is doing now is taking measurements. He sends those images to our doctor who looks over them and makes sure everything is going well.

4:45
The face is on the screen. It's a strange image, but kind of cool to see. More measurements. We can see the heartbeat.
There's the baby belly, and the umbilical cord. I have to take the tech's word for it.

5:00
This chair I'm sitting in has a severe wobble. Profile view of the baby now, trying to eat its hand. The tech is trying to get a good view between the legs, but the baby is being stubborn.

It's a girl.

Everything he is saying now is a blur. My world has officially been rocked.
In a fog as we wrap things up. This may take a moment to sink in.
.....................................................................................................................................................................
There it is. That was yesterday. I have had some time to process the information. I have to say that it might take me a few days to fully grasp it. You see, I was so certain that it was going to be a boy. I don't want this to be misconstrued as disappointment because I'm not. I simply have to make a mental adjustment.

The images that were starting to for in my head about playing with my son have to change into images of me playing with my daughter. I have to change my way of thinking; from blue to pink. My wife has already made the transition, and I am slowly coming along. I put the ultrasound pictures above my desk, and I glance up at them every once in a while. I take a deep breath, and can't help but think, "That's my daughter." 

Let me introduce you to, Anaya Grace

Her little foot

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