The basement flooded on Wednesday night. I know that, at first blush, a basement flood does not seem to have much to do with a baby or pregnancy, but, in my crazy life, it does.
Our basement flooded 14 months ago and we woke up to find the damage already done. It was stressful, but we really took it in stride. On Wednesday night, however, we were just getting ready to pack it in and head to bed when DH looked over and shouted, "Oh S**T!" I looked over, mirrored his sentiment, and started running around like the crazy pregnant lady I am. Having built up in the stairwell, the water was coming through the door andwe were watching it happen. I grabbed every towel, sheet, and towel- or sheet-like object I could find. It was not until I was leaning against the door (in just my underwear - my robe was terrycloth) with the equivalent of a white sale that I realized I was hyperventilating and hurting. I was hurting quite a bit. My abdomen, in fact, was filled with shooting pains. I tried to calm myself down and, with DH's help, calmed my breathing. The pain remained.
I thought about heading to the hospital but decided against it, figuring that rest would make the pain go away. When I awoke just after 7:00 a.m. the next day, the pain was still around. There was more discomfort than pain, but I was worried, so I called the doc. He decided that it would be good to "take a look at the baby." I was grateful because I am pretty sure he was making that decision to ease my mind rather than out of concern.
11:30 a.m. - doc's office for an ultrasound.
12:00 p.m. - in ultrasound room.
12:02 p.m. - ultrasound tech types in, "Anatomy Check"
And that was it - we were going to find out the gender of our baby. We did not want to know while I was prone on an uncomfortable table, covered in goo, so I asked the tech to not tell us if she was able to tell and instead to write it down at the end of the appointment so we could find out when DH and I were together and home.
About five minutes into the ultrasound, DH said, "Hey! The baby just punched you." I said, "Yeah. Baby beats me up."
Baby looked perfect. All the measurements were just right or ahead and there are no signs of any potential problems. Depsite all of the poking and rubbing, baby did not change positions even once the whole exam. The tech was going crazy because we were able to see everything except the correct view of the spine. Baby just would not turn. The tech took a break at one point and, when she left the room, DH threatened to "turn this car around" unless baby turned. Baby did not care. After an hour had passed, the tech finally gave up on seeing the spine and went to get the doctor. Wouldn't you know? Baby turned in that amount of time and we saw the spine - also looking perfect. Stubborn, yes, but a real performer when it mattered.
We got home and went about some business with the house and with some work matters to which we both needed to attend. After I had finished all of my work, I told DH that I wanted both of us to write down what gender we thought the baby was the day before, what gender we thought after the exam, and the funniest name we could think of for that gender. He said, "Let's just look now." (Neither of us could stand knowing such an amazing piece of information was on a piece of paper just a few feet away.)
We went into the family room with the envelope, sat down on the couch, looked at the ultrasound pictures we had been given and then flipped them over.
"IT'S A BOY. CONGRATULATIONS."
A boy! A little boy! My son. A tiny DH. It's a BOY!!!