You can take the crazy off my chart now

I really do have a pretty terrific doctor. Today was my appointment for the paranoia ultrasound. The ultrasound scheduled between 9w2d and 12 weeks. The one to make sure that Little Bird is still chirping.

The doppler has been great. Guy and I snuggle up and find that little "swish swish" before we go to sleep at night, and it is the most calming sound in the world. Especially now that I'm sure that what we are hearing is a heartbeat.

Hearing is one thing. Seeing is quite another.

When I arrived today, the nurse that I like brought me back. We weighed (still no weight gain - don't get that one at all, because, I mean - HoHo's) and took my blood pressure.

Through the roof.

My blood pressure is typically so low that Guy worries about it. He'll poke me and ask if I'm still alive after they take it. I'm just laid back I guess. But today it was sky high. The nurse wanted to know if I was anxious. Um. Yes.

Sweet nurse had me lay on my left side for 5 minutes to see if we could bring it down. I closed my eyes and thought of my Guy, schmooping my little head, and said my yoga incantation to myself. After the 5 minutes, it was back down in my normal range, and we left to do the ultrasound.

I saw a new doctor today, and I got a glimpse of a downside of being in a practice with multiple doctors. New Doc had no idea why we would be doing another ultrasound during the 10th week when I had no bleeding or cramping. If, of course, she had read my chart, she would have. It was alright though, I just let her wonder, and said hello to the stirrups.

Here is what we saw:

Little Bird looks like he's wearing a wrestling mask. I almost laughed out loud right in the office. Had Guy been there with me, I'm sure there would have been much laughing. I just couldn't explain to New Doc and Whisper Nurse (who unfortunately replaced Sweet Nurse), that I thought our Little Bird now looks like a member of Los Straitjackets.

Or, you could say that he looks like my Bro. Which would be all too fair. People say that his second child is virtually a clone of me, bless her heart, so it would only be right for at least one of my kiddos to look like my Bro. Who, in fact, looks like a wrestler. He is about 6'4", I don't know how many pounds, but dear word it's mostly muscle and girth. He's bald, sports a goatee, and could scare the paint off walls if he wanted to. Except that he's a sweetheart.

So if Little Bird ends up looking somewhat like Uncle Bro, I guess that's okay with me. As long as he has his father's eyes. And nose. And smile. And shoulders. And legs. And voice.

Keep chirping, Little Bird.