ultrasound + blood + xray {+ so much less dramatic than it sounds}

We saw little one yesterday.  I went in with Bob and O for the 20ish week anatomical survey ultrasound.  Meaning: we got to hang with our not-yet-born baby for a while.  It's always amazing to me.  Getting the chance to see what he's up to in there -- seeing him drink, and put his hands to his face, and kick and cross and stretch his little legs.  We've decided to keep Baby Tiki's gender a secret this time around just because, why not?  Good surprises are all too rare in adulthood.  Plus I really want Ben to shout, "It's a whatever!" in the delivery room and then run out to the waiting room with the pink or blue cigars.  Maybe I'll videotape the final moments so we can get a shot of him catching the baby and making the proclamation viewed between my legs.  Don't worry, I'll be sure to youtube that right up.  Or maybe I'll get an iphone so we can have a live feed going.

The boys were mildly interested in the ultrasound, far more interested in terrorizing the room and trying to crush themselves with a hospital bed.  Then later in the doctor's exam room: riding the stirrups like horses.  (Dr. B: "Well, he's very agile, isn't he?")  All considered, though: they were angels.

Poor Bob had to go after that for a second round of blood testing.  (No problems, except a little concern over his height; not concerns from us -- his pediatrician just wants to rule some stuff out.  Everything except, that's how God made him and he's just perfect, I guess.  Which is what we've known all along.)    This time around I opted not to tell him it was coming.  Last time I did, which led to many tears of anticipation along with absolute wailing as I held him in a vice grip on my lap.  So this time I let him pick out a toy while we did our grocery shopping, telling him that later we had to do something not fun so I wanted him to have something special.  We put some lidocaine ointment on his arms to numb them, then 45 minutes later we're waiting in the lab for our beeper to go off and he's asking, "Mom, do you have to get your blood drawn?"  I told him no but let him enjoy his ignorance until the last second, when we went back and I picked him up and sat down on the chair and told him, I'm really sorry we have to do this again, but the ointment on your arms is to make them not hurt, remember?  So this poke won't even hurt, and don't forget about your new Donatello costume, you look so tough with your headband (he couldn't hold the stick because I feared for the poor girls stealing his blood)...  And the screaming commenced and continued and I squeezed him tight and tried my best to comfort him.  Blood flow slowed to a drip in his first arm so they had to switch and poke him again.  Torture.  "This is not fun!" the poor boy yelled.  And Owen was wandering off playing with syringes or test tubes because there weren't enough hands on deck to keep him under wraps as well.  But we all survived, and the techs laughed as we left and Bob called out between sobs, "Bye -- I hope I never see you again!"  And then we went to get an m&m cookie.

Just an average day in the life of any parent: beautiful moments, followed by screaming and heartache, and then hopefully cookies.

an x-ray to determine bob's bone age {normal range}

parking garage roof