Monday, September 21, 2009

Magic show

On Thursday evening E decided she was going to help me with my project. I was unpacking maternity clothes from their storage bin and sorting them into a pile to wash and a still-too-big pile to save for later and a too-summery pile to give away, never to be used by me again. Look at all these clothes, Mama! Where did they all come from? “They’re my maternity clothes, love. They’re because my belly is getting so big. My regular shirts are fitting too short on me right now. These are special clothes that keep my belly covered while the baby is still growing inside me.” Maternity? I don’t think I can say that, she said even as she pronounced it perfectly. Then she added, as she so often does when confronted with a big word, Maybe I can say that when I’m four.

Friday afternoon I picked the girls up a couple hours early so we could get home to begin Rosh Hashanah . I was trying to hurry us out the door but E’s teacher called me over, a big smile on her face. “You know,” she began, “E told me she helped you unpack all your clothes for covering your belly. She hesitated over how to say it: she called them your ‘magic’ clothes.”

This morning I was scheduled for the long-awaited ultrasound in which E would learn for herself the gender of her littlest sibling. It was an exciting morning for her, filled with all sorts of new experiences for her and all sorts of new questions for me to answer, like watching Mama collect her pee-pees in a cup and leave them in a cabinet in the wall. How do you even catch your pee-pees like that? And where do they go? And what do they do with them? And this is where I have to give a shout-out to Kathy, the world’s greatest nurse who will never read this, because she heard E’s questions (and really, who in the office didn't?) and led us to the other side of the wall. “What’s your name? How old are you? Do you like science? This is where we do science. We look at your Mommy’s pee-pees to make sure she is healthy. Can you help me? Tell me if this stick changes any colors in your Mommy’s pee-pees. What happened? That means your Mommy is very healthy. Do you want a sticker for being my helper?”

E helped herself to a sticker and saw something else that she fancied, too. What are those? They look like drumsticks! Whereupon Kathy gave her two, and then she drummed all along the wall, and all along my legs as we watched the ultrasound.
Why doesn’t this TV have any colors in it?

It doesn’t look like a baby. Why doesn’t it look like a baby? It looks like an alien!

When do we find out what it is?


The sonographer asked E if she’s hoping for a brother or a sister. A sister! “What if it’s a boy?” Well, that wouldn’t make me sad…

And then we counted all five of his appendages, and he is unabashedly a boy:

September 21, 2009
Portrait of inter-uterine upskirting affirming that this is no Groundhogette.


which caused E a double-take. That’s how big a baby penis is?

And a minute later: Do all boy babies have big penises or do some have small penises?

The sonographer declared E to be cute and printed out her own ultrasound picture just for her to keep (a profile shot, though, not a porn shot). And then we proceeded to the regular examination room where my blood pressure and belly size and all that ordinary stuff was checked, and during which I was pronounced healthy and proceeding along fine, and during which E was so enthralled with her brother’s portrait that for the first time in 30 minutes she lost interest in her drumsticks.

For which, I was grateful…because those were no mere drumsticks, of course, but cervical swabs used for conducting Pap smear exams, and I felt fairly confident that I had already addressed my morning anatomical questions quota.
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2 comments:

a li'l bit squishy said...

That son of yours is not shy at all!! Much congrats to E and L on becoming big sisters to a little brother. More excited waiting to follow!

cndymkr / jean said...

I loved her comment about penis sizes. It just gave me the giggles. Thanks.