Advice from Toddlers

So, the other day I was having a very deep discussion about life, babies, and cake with a 3 year old. I figure, she's got as much experience as anyone when it comes to those issues. Sure, she hasn't been to "medical school" or "pre-school," but I don't see why that would effect her ability to give me sound medical advice.

"In a few months, you'll have a new little friend ya' know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you think it'll be a girl or a boy?"

"It's a boy."

"Would you rather have a boy to play with?"

"No. Girls are waaay more fun. So, how does the baby get out of your belly?"

"Well, have you ever seen the movie Alien?"

"No."

"Hmm...let's get some cake."

Of course, relying on the medical opinion of a toddler can only get you so far, mostly because it's hard to take someone seriously when they're wearing a tutu and raincoat. At 19 weeks the time has finally come for a high quality ultrasound. The one that shows the bits. Done by a real doctor.

I was required to drink 16 ounces of water and keep a full bladder for an hour before the ultrasound. I'm sure the doc would come up with some fancy practical reason for putting a pregnant woman through this torture, but I think they really do it just to watch your face as they push down on your stomach, point to the screen, and go, "Oh! And that's your bladder. Look how full it is!"

Alright. It's mugshot time. If you want to see insanely big versions of these pictures, just click on the photo.

So, our little human is getting even more human-like by the week. Here is little Slagathor/Edna Lou, currently 19 weeks, 10 ounces, and %100 fully assembled human!


I'm pretty sure the black space to the left of its head is little Slaggy/E.L.'s pompadour.

Below is the baby-in-progress trying to catch a nap and wondering why the hell someone keeps turning on the lights and moving the room around.

So, Ryan hates feet. I mean HATES feet. He despises foot medicine commercials (who doesn't?) and gets startled by sudden feet shots in movies way more than when the guy with the knife jumps out of the closet. But, when these little guys came up on the screen, you could see him dreaming about kissing on these little baby feet.

And now for the moment you've been waiting for!

(Insert rimshot)

I believe the exact words of the ultrasound technician were,
"Wow. It is absolutely, definitely a boy."

Ryan's response was, "YES!"

Yup, that's our boy's junk right in the center there.

Now that we know we're having a boy, we can finally stop calling the baby Slagathor/Edna Lou. I consulted with my 3 year old life coach on the matter. After all, she didn't need an ultrasound to tell us we were having a baby boy.

"If it's a boy, we're going to name him Slagathor. Doesn't it sound Nordic?"

(She giggles hysterically)

"Well then, what should we name it if it's a boy?"

"Pontshoon."

"Pontshoon?"

"PONTSHOON!"

After a bit more discussion, with her continuing to insist on the name Pontshoon, she got upset and ended the conversation because I wouldn't use her name.

But seriously, Pontshoon? Now that would just be weird. I mean, when people would ask what we were naming him, we'd have to answer, "Pontshoon." Everyone would think we were just joking.

No way, missy. We'll stick with Slagathor, thank you very much.