Today we had another date with Baby. While at school, I counted down the hours until the afternoon appointment with the perinatologist. We got there early to fill out paperwork, which was the same paperwork the office sent me in the mail that I brought back prior to the visit.

Dear Doctors,
Why do you make me fill out the same questions every time, even when you already have the information? I am pregnant and tired.
Love,
Alison

Now, this appointment was the first of its kind. We met with Dr. Genetics for a routine genetic counseling session (“Yes, yes, yes, Bryan and I are completely normal. Oh, except for my freaky feet that came out with extra toes when I was born. Where does that fit into the baby’s DNA, eh?”) and learned about our odds for having a baby with genetic disorders based alone on my age. Numbers have always scared me, but I actually felt at ease. Apparently, 27 is a low-risk age to make babies. Go us.

Then we went into the exam room for some more screening fun. First was a finger prick to squeeze blood onto test papers that would check further for genetic disorders (Down Syndrome, Trisomy 18). Who knew a few drops of blood on fancy doctor paper could help narrow down the odds? Hey, whatever works!

After my “Dexter”-like blood drops, the big moment of being reunited with the produce of the week, our little Plum, was upon us. We heard a strong heartbeat (155 bpm! That’s more than my Zumba workout!) and watched the baby snooze its way into an undesirable position. The sonographer needed our kid to lay a certain way so she could measure the nuchal translucency (fluid between the neck and skin), but of course Little Friedman wanted more time on camera so we had to wait it out until there was ideal movement. Finally, the tech was happy with the position, got a good measure, checked out the shnozz and happily reported that there is very little risk of a genetic disorder since the fluid levels and nasal cavity resulted in normal, normal, normal. Whew! Big relief! We were never too concerned, but it’s music to a parent’s ears (I can say this now) to know that the baby will very likely be born in good health (who knows about those toes, though?!).

The tech also measured Baby and even though chronologically, we are at 12 weeks, 3 days, the munchkin is measuring at 13 weeks, 1 day. So either we have a little chunker (ouch!) or it may want out sooner than August 5th. Only time will tell and I’ll just continue doin’ my thing like eating only carbs and passing out at 9 p.m.

We were kind of hoping for a guess on the baby’s sex. I’ve read on message boards (yes, I’m one of those) that some parents have gotten a “probably” male or female sway based on the positioning and angle of the private bits. But, I guess Baby Friedman was a little TOO private about his/her private parts, because the tech could not even make a guess. While we weren’t going to rush to paint pink or blue walls anyway, it would have been cool to start wondering what team we’d be joining. I guess we’ll just have to wait about another month to find out! A month in Pregnant Standard Time is so long, though!