Written October 16, 2009

In my efforts to seem witty and sarcastic, I totally skipped out on telling all three of you what it was really like at our first ultrasound. So here’s the play by play.

OBGYN offices are really strange places. Like most doctor’s offices, they are always decorated with watercolors of flowers and beach scenes and the color scheme of the wallpaper and furniture is ALWAYS mauve and teal. But unlike most doctor’s offices, OBGYNs are not really full of sick people. They are full of women who have aliens growing inside of them. And since these places cater mostly to women, but are usually owned and run by men, there is an odd dynamic of “our office really understands the needs of women” and “our men business managers wouldn’t know a placenta if it shot across the room and hit them in the face”. So everything seems over-the-top womanly, sort of like if a transvestite became a doctor’s office. But not a cool tranny – more like an old lady tranny with a floral moo moo and a blueish-gray wig.

So Chris and I made our second joint excursion to the land of tranny, to see the first glimpses of the little Butterbean that caused all of this mess. We went once before to have an official pregnancy test done, and that experience was so traumatic, that I was not concerned about how he would feel being in a lady doctor’s office for the first time. But this time, trauma behind us, I decided to make a mental note about our experience there.

The office I go to is a very large practice of seven or eight doctors. The building itself is huge and confusing, and no one really is very helpful at directions. So we go in to the first general waiting room. I tell the lady what I’m here for and she takes some information and tells us to sit and wait. We do. Thankfully, there are other men waiting with their wives too, and I am sure Chris and the rest of them are all thinking the same thing: “I freaking hate this place”. So after a while, they call my name. I know that there are going to be a lot of tests and exams done this day, and the only one Chris is interested in seeing is the ultrasound. So every time I am called, I have to ask the nurse who called me, “Is this the ultrasound?” and they, looking a little annoyed, say “No, honey- this is the (fill in the blank) test”. So by the end of it, Chris and I have developed hand signals to let each other know when he should and should not come with me. It’s all very efficient.

Finally, we are taken to the ultrasound waiting room. There seem to be a larger collection of men in this waiting room, and most of them are listlessly flipping through issues of House Beautiful and Modern Baby. No Sports Illustrated here. Chris stares at his iPhone.  I survey the crowd. There’s a couple holding an baby that looks like Conan O’Brien with a bow in his hair, who keeps squealing. There’s a couple of what looks like hardcore music fans, who have a baby in a bucket and a little girl who is spinning in circles over and over again. There’s what looks like three generations of women named Barbara-Jean- and the middle Barbara-Jean is talking on the phone and saying “Yay-eh. Thay sed it wuz a ‘nother gurrrrl, ” while the baby Barbara-Jean did some sort of head ramming in to the arm of granny Barbara-Jean’s chair. The old feeling of trauma, that I experienced the first time we were here, had returned. Finally, after what seemed like eons of watching the Conan baby and the Barbara-Jeans, the nurse called my name. It was showtime.

Chris and I were both very nervous. I had felt so sure that there were multiples in my womb. We were prepared to see at least two, maybe three, maybe five little nuggets on that screen. The nurse puts me up on the table and squirts goo on my belly. Chris is standing over by the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looks like he might throw up. She pushes the ultrasound wand into my stomach and all we see is black and white fuzz for the first few moments. I am looking at the screen, but only half way because I am listening for her to say, “Uh-oh- it looks like we have a full house,” or something like that. Finally, she says “Okay- there it is”.

What?? It?? As in one? I focus more closely on the screen. Sure enough, there is what looks like a hole, with a little blob sitting in the bottom of it. Just one. I look at Chris. He is staring at the screen and says, “So there’s just one in there???”
“Yeah, just one”.
I say, “REALLY?? Just one? Are you sure?”
By this time she thinks we’re idiots. “Yep. Just the one”.

I can’t lie- I was a little disappointed. I would have bet money on the fact that there was more than one baby in there. In fact, one couple we know did bet money on the numbers of babies in there. The husband won $10 from the wife. Then the most magical thing I have ever heard happened. She pushed a button, and some sound waves popped up on the screen. Then she pushed another button and I heard a “goosh-goosh-goosh-goosh-goosh-goosh-goosh-goosh”. It was the heartbeat. I was not prepared for the way I felt when I heard that sound. I wanted to cry. To keep myself from crying, I looked over at Chris, who had his mouth dangling open and his eyes were wide. He looked like he might cry too. At the sight of that I did cry a little bit, but unlike all of the other times I had cried about this, these were the first tears of joy. There was a life inside of me. Life inside of me. It wasn’t just a blob, or an inconvenience, or an alien goo ball, but a human being. Who had a heartbeart. His little heart was beating at 164 beats per minute, which is really fast, but perfectly normal for little folks like him. It sounded like a techno beat.

The nurse was checking out some other things, and said, “He’s about the size of a large butterbean”. Butterbean. Good name. Like a psychotard, I then said, “Why isn’t he moving? Is he asleep?” and the nurse looked at me a little puzzled. Then I realized how dumb that sounded and said, “Oh yeah- he’s kind of always asleep”. Right. Good save. The exam was over and she printed out some pictures of Butterbean to take home. I was in love.

We went and sat back in the waiting room. By that time, the middle Barbara-Jean was gone and Baby/Granny Barbara-Jean were reading a story. The Conan baby was still there, but I didn’t feel as compelled to stare at its ugliness. I was too busy looking at my own little baby. Chris was staring at his picture as well. After a minute, we swapped pictures and stared some more. Then he left and called everyone to tell them the good news: that we were just having one little baby- not seven- and everything was fine. It did feel a little anti-climactic, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t about me anymore. I had heard that techno heartbeat, and I was in love with Butterbean.

As I was leaving, I looked around the office. Yes, it still looked like an old woman transvestite. But a happy one. The world had suddenly taken on a shimmery glow of techno love, because despite our best efforts to prevent it, Chris and I had made a life: a life with its own set of goals, dreams, loves, and hates. You can’t stop life.  Well, actually, you can, but I don’t know how people could want to after they see the blurry glimpses of the miracle they get to be a part of. This (and the birth of any other children) will probably be the only miracle that I ever get to take part in. I’m royally average by all other accounts, but to this little Butterbean, I’m all he has.

I did some research, since we forgot to tape the ultrasound, and found out other songs that have  160 beats per minute.

One of them happens to be Death Cab for Cutie’s “Brothers on a Hotel Bed” (not exactly techno) which is a favorite of Chris and me.

Somebody made an entire myspace page devoted to this song- so you can listen to it here.