Yesterday Anson and I went in for the 20-week sonogram of this little thing growing in my belly. We wanted to know two things from this day:
- What kind of baby is this? Boy baby or Girl baby?
- Does everything look all right? 10 toes, 10 fingers, 1 brain, etc.?
So after a short 3-hour wait in the aptly titled waiting room, we finally got in. We got our first answer immediately.
This baby is a boy baby.
I was actually shocked to hear this. Roan has been so certain about the baby being a girl that I just thought he knew something I didn’t know, and believed it myself. And then I was relieved. I know I would have loved a girl so much. But I’m familiar with having a boy, I feel confident in my boy raising techniques, and as my sister Lori pointed out, the Real Estate factor is a better deal with a boy. Meaning in NYC, it’s much harder to find a decent 3 bedroom than a 2 bedroom and 2 boys = shared room for life! HA! I love that we have another little boy on the way. Roan has totally switched allegiances as well, and has been kissing my belly and saying, “Hello brother, I’m your brother!” over and over. I can’t get enough of that.
The second question, however, was a little more complicated. The technician let a, “Hmmmmm” out at one point, which made me suspicious and then when a doctor entered a room and they started with the whispers I went into full-on red alert. Finally, they spoke to Anson and me: this baby boy’s kidneys are showing up brighter than they should on the ultrasound, indicating that he has Multicystic Kidneys.
The doctor explained a few things to Anson and me, and then introduced us to the genetic counselor (a woman who really could not have been more comforting.) She explained that this is not a diagnosis, but something that needs to be looked at more closely. She drew pictures, gave us brochures, and emphasized that all the functions that healthy kidneys need to do are being done, which is a very positive sign.
Still, we’re being sent to a specialist clinic at Columbia Hospital, sponsored by the March of Dimes. May I just be a drama queen and say that being sent anywhere sponsored by the March of Dimes when you’re pregnant is a little crazy-making? They are an awesome organization, but one that I would prefer not to need. I want to not need any help for this baby because that means that something scary could be happening. On the other side, though, on the realistic side, I am lucky that that and I live in NYC this facility is available. Apparently I’ll go through a battery of tests with this little man-child, tests that aren’t really available elsewhere with a very comprehensive look at what is happening, and will have more information and a more global look at what to expect.
And so now, where am I in my head? Truthfully, I felt shaken up like crazy after leaving the doctor yesterday. It wasn’t what I wanted and shouldn’t I always get what I want? I lashed out at Anson for not supporting me in the way I wanted to be supported, then felt guilty, then felt angry at Anson again because I didn’t want to feel guilty. Poor guy had to turn to a glass of milk and a plate of cookies to get through my storms. But then I had talks with my sisters and mother and started to get my head around the reality, rather than the could-be’s. I was reminded that there have been many kidney problems with my sister Kellene’s children, which have been easily remedied. These were the kind of problems that are remarkably similar to what the doctors were talking about yesterday. I was reminded that in nature, things are usually fine, because that’s how things run. I was told about friends who have had similar problems diagnosed with their children at 20-week sonograms, which turned out to be nothing. I was receiving texts, emails, and voicemails from my army of girlfriends with congratulations and support which reminded me of my biggest source of comfort – I have almost endless resources for help, love, reassurance, empathy, sympathy, support and hand holding.
And so. I have a baby boy on the way. My husband loves me, and is excited for this boy to get here. My 5-year-old son is a superstar rock star who cannot wait to teach someone to pee in the potty. I am surrounded by love, an amazing network of friends, and have access to the medical resources I need. Which means one thing: everything is as it should be, and life is good.