Son of Sasquatch

Image courtesy M. C. Squirt

This morning I had my third, and hopefully final, ultrasound; at the last one, the tech was unable to get a clear view of the baby's heart and wrote it up as some sort of minor cardio abnormality (hello, minor panic attack). This was after about the most uncomfortable 45 minutes I've experienced since getting knocked up; the baby wasn't in a good position, so the tech attempted to push and prod him around using the ultrasound wand on my belly. Did I mention that I also had a very full bladder at the time? By the time she had finished, I felt as though I had just gone several rounds with a meat tenderizer on the inside and outside. Not fun at all. Needless to say, I was a bit wary of this morning's appointment.

Fortunately things today went much, much better. The tech was super friendly and the baby was in a decent position for once so she was able to see everything that she needed to see. Turns out the heart is perfectly healthy so there's nothing to worry about there. She did, however, notice something unusual going on with my kid's dome. "Wow, your baby has a lot of hair." Me: "What?" "See all of these lines around your baby's head? That's all hair." Apparently those old wives' tales were on to something; according to them, if you have heartburn, your baby will be born with a full head of hair. I've been riding the acid reflux/heartburn train since October, so I fully expect this kid to come out looking like a miniature Big Foot (especially if his feet are anything like mine, oi vey).

I gave Captain Husband the news (baby's looking good, weighs 5 pounds, on track for June 18th, is going to be hairy) and his response was priceless. "I hope he can hold on to all of that hair longer than me."