it's a....?!

We went for the 20-week anatomy scan today, and confirmed that Second Baby Peterson will in fact have 10 toes, 10 fingers, and 4 chambers to its beautiful, beating heart.
Lots of things came back to me from the first time we did this, too; like how much the spine really got me: the idea that this creature that has bee growing (inside me!!) for just 21 weeks has so much tiny detail, so many individual parts, sometimes feels beyond comprehension. This time, the feet kind of did it, and the balled up little fists with all the metatarsals showing. (Dad, are they called metatarsals in the hand, or just in the feet?). It was also funny to be back at the hospital for the first time since we brought Clio home. Dave suggested we revisit the birthing room, but I declined.

Ayway, the ultrasound magic all got a little stalled by the process. We waited for an hour in admitting, only to be told that we could have gone straight up to Ultrasound (the opposite of what Ultrasound told me when I made the appointment). I was VERY crabby about this, partly because Dave has reformed my habit of lateness (and replaced it with lateness anxiety), and partly because I couldn't remember if this was the ultrasound that required a very full bladder, so I had provided one- but had timed it for my appointment, not for the hour long wait. So things were a little uncomfortable in the waiting room.

Upstairs, having clearly missed the appointment, we waited another hour, at which point I spoke to the receptionist about rescheduling (as I was now on the brink of missing my afternoon appointment at the office); guess when the next available time was? MARCH. (Is there a baby boom going on or what?) So we stayed. And we went through the whole ultrasound process TWICE because the Dr. noticed that the technician's dates all showed me to be, on average, 19 weeks pregnant when I am supposedly 21 weeks along, so we went back and remeasured everything.

Long story short, the more time we spent at the hospital, the more tempted I became to find out the sex of the baby, especially when the technician dispelled all myths about false identifications with stories of giving herself ultrasounds and determining her babies sex as early as 12 weeks into her pregnancy. We talked about what it would change to know: basically, if it's a boy, I would strive to buy Clio more gender-neutral clothing, and if it's a girl, I would stop worrying and go even further down the path of Pink.

Ultimately, though, I think I would be disappointed to know, immediately after being told; not because of the verdict one way or another- I don't really care what we have- but more because of the loss of having that news still out there in front of us, waiting for the great birthday reveal.