I'm kind of zonked, but I have news so I wanted to put that here, for anyone that might care. I just hope it all makes sense -- I'll try again tomorrow to clarify my thoughts, but here's the gist of what's going on:
-We had an appointment yesterday for the baby, just routine scheduled stuff. I think I'd worked myself into such a state that I honestly half expected to see a blank screen on the ultrasound, and hear the doctor say, "Oh, sorry. It's just gas." and send us away, confused and pissed off and all, well if you'd just let me fart in bed we wouldn't have that changing table we don't need, now WOULD we? (Note: We totally don't have a changing table. We're making the big move in two weeks and neither of us have started packing our separate houses. Obviously, planners we are not.)
I digress. Point is: We saw a beautiful, perfect, bright white skeleton inside of our baby. We saw fluid in the abdomen and skull to cushion organs and brain. We saw a beating heart, wiggling limbs, and perhaps even a wee bit of thumb sucking. We also saw a penis, or so we think, and so The Bean is no longer The Bean but has a name all his own. (His. Dear God. Him. Our son. A boy. Holy cow.)
I was shocked because I was sure we were having a girl -- so much for women's intuition, huh? And okay, WAS isn't correct - AM is correct. I AM shocked the doctor said it's a boy, and while I love him and would totally make out with his sweet old face because he talks to me about his lunch when he's elbow deep in my vagina like there's nothing awkward at all about the situation, I wonder if he hasn't developed something of a secret drinking problem as of late because this? Does not feel like a boy. I don't know that I'd have any idea what a boy would feel like, but I thought you're supposed to get some sort of Divine signal beamed into your brain. Maybe my receptors are down, but I'm pretty sure he's just a closet drunk and that penis is going to turn out to be a foot.
Anyway... Everything is good. I can't explain the weight off of my mind upon seeing our baby move around in there, rabbit kicking and making problems for the doctor when he tried to get pictures of his face and downstairs mixup. I can't even put to words what a terrible shit I've been lately, how many times I've fired off a YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF! or STOP BEING SUCH A SHITHEAD! and caught a pained, frustrated expression flit across The Boy's face because we don't talk to each other like that... We aren't those people, and while it's so natural for him to not be that person, it's work for me, and I'm ashamed that I've been so lax lately because I've been so scared and anxious and distracted. There is no excuse, and I feel terrible that I never even noticed it was happening.
I've laughed more in the last 30 hours than I have in weeks. The baby's alive and well and fine, despite all of my constant worrying and panic attacking. The Boy is over the moon-- I think he was shocked to see our child wiggling around, being a real (tiny) person inside. I know he's been worried, although he's never said, and I imagine it's an enormous weight off of his mind, as well. I've noticed he's laughing more easily and smiling a lot more than he has been recently, and it breaks my heart a thousand times with love for him. The palpable relief and joy and excitement is something I'm so glad to be able to finally share with him. And now I've shared it with you, and I'm rambling, so I'll end it here.
Thank you for caring, for your kind words and thoughts. Thank you so much for being right.