surprises (of the male variety)

Today David and I had our 20 week ultrasound. You know, the one where you hope you can get a peek at your baby's lower half.

For the past few weeks, both David and I were pretty convinced that we were having a baby girl. Call it maternal (and paternal) instinct, if you will. A few nights ago, however, I had a dream that threw me through a loop. In my dream, I got to my doctor's office and was told that she couldn't see me that day. The doctor sent me to a different clinic—one that was located underneath the street. After David and I wandered through some tunnels, we finally arrived. Before the new doctor could do the ultrasound, the nurses made me cut my hair (and for the record, they cut it crooked. I was mad). But after my haircut, David was nowhere to be found! I ended up going to the ultrasound appointment by myself (except for some reason my dad showed up, so at least I had some emotional support of the male variety). The ultrasound tech was super ornery and would not let me see the computer screen. I kept asking her to let me see my baby, but she wouldn't budge. When she told me that our baby was a boy, I demanded to see proof. I was so certain that our baby was a girl that I wanted to see the ultrasound for myself. The tech told me she would let me see the printouts of our baby at the end. But when I got the printouts, she had photoshopped blankets over the baby's nether regions so that I could not see whether the baby was actually a boy or not! It was the worst.

Needless to say, it was a stressful dream. And after waking up, I still thought our baby was a girl.

This morning was chaotic, to say the least. I hardly slept at all last night and woke up in a foul mood (it didn't help that I keep dreaming I smell a skunk at night (and no, it's not David)). David was kind enough to put up with my grumbles as we drove into Salt Lake to go to our appointment. I guzzled water and filled up my bladder like a champ (which honestly is the worst part of pregnancy for me. I hate filling up my bladder and holding it until someone says I can pee).

Once we got to the doctor's, I checked in at the desk. They asked me about a balance on my account, and I explained to them that my insurance was supposed to cover it. Come to find out, my doctor had been informed by my insurance carrier on Friday that they were no longer going to cover my doctor's office. I was a little peeved (and not just because I really had to go). In a nutshell, I could no longer see my doctor without having to pay for all of my visits and tests out-of-pocket. Basically, my insurance carrier announced to my doctor that they were breaking up, and my doctor's visitation and parental rights were completely terminated.

The receptionist was super nice in helping us to figure out what we should do. She ran around asking the billing people and the nurses about our various options. In the end, we could either (1) go through with our appointment this morning and pay out-of-pocket; (2) go to a nearby hospital for the ultrasound because my insurance would cover it there; (3) switch doctors; or (4) switch insurance. Because there is a specific window for taking the 20 week ultrasound, options 1 and 2 were our best bet (since it takes a ridiculous amount of time to switch doctors and insurance). One of the hospitals said they could get us in on July 9th, but David and I asked them to check another hospital (because by this point my patience and bladder were wearing a little thin). After pulling some strings, they got us an appointment at the University of Utah. Through some miracle, another patient cancelled her appointment and there was a spot waiting for us as soon as we could get there. I was super grateful and impressed at the lengths my doctor's office went to in order to make sure we could get an appointment and have my insurance cover it.

Because my innards were going to explode, I finally asked to use the restroom. And hallelujah, they said it was all right if I peed (but I had to do it in a cup because they wanted a sample. The joys of maternal care). After I got out of that paradise called the restroom, we consulted with the nurses that had been helping us and determined that I should go to the appointment at the U, but reschedule an appointment with my doctor in the event that I switch insurance in the next few weeks [Just a note: I love my doctor's office—they've been awesome in helping me deal with Leonard and Opal—and my insurance carrier has just been a deadbeat. At this point, we are planning on switching insurance carriers].

Once we got up to the U, I introduced ourselves at the ultrasound desk. The receptionist knew exactly who we were and helped us get everything squared away so that we could have our appointment. Again, I was super impressed by how nice she was in helping us to get worked in.

After waiting a little bit, we were called back for our appointment. Because my bladder was still bulging and pushing the baby out of the way, they had me pee again so they could get a better look at our baby. After doing some initial measurements, the ultrasound tech asked us if we wanted to know our baby's sex. We said yes, and she pointed to a little line in between the baby's legs. And I was flabbergasted. As David announced to his family via text, "Our baby has a penis!" Methinks my maternal instincts need a little fine-tuning.

The rest of our appointment went relatively smoothly. It was amazing being able to see his heart beating and his little hands waving about (they almost looked like armless gloves flying around in the air. But don't worry, he has arms—we saw those, too). The tech was able to take measurements of nearly everything. Except our baby's head. Right now, his face is nestled into the bottom of my uterus. And he would not budge. The tech tried tilting me nearly upside down to get gravity to push him higher (talk about a blood rush—that was exciting). I did toe touches and stretches and moved around. She pushed and prodded (and I will note that he kicked back. Hard). And still, he would not move his face. He's a stubborn one, that baby.

Finally, she ended the appointment after we got a mere glimpse of his upper lip (at least, that's what she said it was. Alas, there was no mustache). After consulting with a doctor at the U, she recommended I schedule another appointment to come back so that she can take the measurements she needs to make sure everything is okay with his noggin. Where and when that appointment will happen has yet to be determined (yay for insurance chaos!). But I will see my baby's face one of these days! I will!

As we left the appointment, it dawned on me that my dream was an eerie prediction of what happened this morning. My doctor sent me to another doctor's office for our ultrasound because she could not see me. We are having a baby boy instead of a girl. And I wasn't entirely able to see my baby. Crazy times.

Despite all of today's surprises, David and I are really excited to welcome our stubborn little guy into our lives (I should have taken a picture of David's face after the tech said we were having a boy—to say that he is thrilled to have a mini-me is an understatement). And hopefully we get our insurance chaos resolved so that we can see our little guy again soon! I want to see his face!

Father's Day with the proud papa.