I went to the doctor yesterday for my 17 week appointment. Once I got over the initial fear and trepidation of what They were going to do to me or what They were going to look at or poke or talk about, I find that I look forward to these monthly visits because we get to peek briefly at the wee munchkin on the ultrasound, and I'm reminded that this really is happening. It's not just continuing to give mental assent to believing in a physical reality. There really is a baby in there. Yesterday we watched him/her kick, observed his/her tubby wittle tummy, and commented on the size of this child's noggin. Whether he/she is a He or a She is yet to be determined, however. The wee munchkin may have Steve's brain, but it has my modest tendencies.
While it is exciting to see the baby and be reassured of his/her good growth and health, the visits seem a little hurried and irreverent for something so amazing. I am blessed with a doctor who doesn't suggest weird things, or threaten to kill both of us with her whacked-out procedures, and I'm very grateful for that. At the same time, a lot of my hype for each visit comes to a crashing halt when, after filling up on information from books and websites during the month, our conversation consists of: Everything's splendid; The baby looks perfect; Yes, this is covered by insurance; Don't come back for another month; Goodbye. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not very assertive, or don't care to ask questions, but maybe there isn't a need to at this point. Oh well.
It's crazy to think that we're already 17 weeks into this adventure. After looking at pictures in A Child is Born last night, I showed Steve the difference between the first pictures we saw at six weeks when it looked (according to him) like a giant salamander and the ones for a baby of 17 weeks when it looks like a human being. According to one source, the baby is 5.5" long...and they compared it to an onion. That's all well and good, but I'd rather thing that it is the length of my palm. So wondrously sweet.