The verdict is in!

I woke up yesterday to snow being flung out of the sky like confetti. Very fluffy and thick and white. Though in general I've been feeling better, the night before I'd been up feeling sick and not able to sleep much. I had to drink 16 oz or more of water an hour before the ultrasound and I wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom, which was an Olympic feat in itself, to go along with the event of getting Dave and myself out of the house on time. But perfectly when we should, we headed out the door and I was very pleased because I hate being late. We got to the car.

"We need to stop for gas," Dave said when we got in. Um... okay. We could probably still manage. "Oh," he said. "and I need to drop off my dry cleaning." What? "And do you have your new insurance card? We have to switch our information when we get there." (Which takes 15 minutes.) Bah! In two seconds, we had gotten ourselves 25 minutes behind schedule!

I fruitlessly argued against pre-appointment dry-cleaning drop-off-age but Dave insisted so I simmered irritatedly all the way to the doctor's office. Dave swore he could still get us there on time. I doubted him wholeheartedly. He was right though! Miraculously we got there on time and didn't even have to worry about the insurance until after the ultrasound.

We got inside the ultrasound room and a resident was learning how to do them, helped along by an experienced doctor who directed her. Now, my uterus is especially sensitive to begin with. I don't even lay my hands on it when I lie down because even pressure like that is uncomfortable. Well, before I knew what was happening, the probe was on me, pushing down so hard I thought I might burst. I stared at Dave in horror and squeezed his hand, mouthing, "I will die. I am dying. Stop her." But we were helpless. I thought about lab rats and almost cried. I did not think I could take it 5 minutes, much less the hour they tell you to expect. I voiced my concerns and discomfort and asked if it was normal to be experiencing this. This was my polite way of avoiding screaming into her ear that she was abusing me and maybe I would drive a mac truck over her abdomen to see if she would enjoy the very similar experience. She responded breezily that everyone was different and she was sure the discomfort was normal.

A few minutes later her part was done and she left and the real doctor took over. What an amazing difference! All of a sudden the probe was lightly gliding over me, not uncomfortable at all, like a happy walk in the park! The idiot just hadn't known what she was doing! I hastened to alert the doctor of her own genius ultrasound skills and quickly threw the resident under the bus for her inept ways.

We were asked if we would want to know the gender of the baby, to which we responded in the very enthusiastic affirmative. A few minutes later, with no warning, amidst mumbles about head circumference, kidneys, and femur length, the doctor very calmly announced it.

"Mumble mumble... centimeters, mumble mumble... artery, mumble mumble... it's a girl." What?!? I erupted into cheers of joy. I wasn't even prepared! I thought she would make a bigger deal of it! I sat there in shock and Dave grabbed my hand and said smiling to the doctor, "She got her wish."

A few tears leaked out which I bravely pretended didn't exist when offered a Kleenex, and I basked in the glow of the knowing. Then it occurred to me that we better be sure about this.

"So..." I began politely, "now, how exactly sure are you? You said it is a girl, but would you say you are, oh, seventy percent sure, for instance? What are my odds here?" She kindly informed me that she was not just saying it was a girl because she didn't see a penis, but in fact, she was quite sure because she had seen the structure of the labia and knows what she is talking about because she has been doing this since 1976. That was good enough for me. I mentally floated away on a pink-tinted Cloud 9 and began dreamily planning a blush-colored nursery and some rosy-hued birth announcements.

The baby is very healthy and moved around a lot (they called her a wild-child as she flipped about during the examination). We got some good pictures too. The first one looks like the baby is throwing her head back and laughing while smoking a cigar.