Elise and I went to see and hear our baby girl for the last time before we meet her in person in a few short weeks (or days, if Elise has anything to say about it!). It had been almost three months since the last ultrasound so I hadn’t recalled the contagiously gregarious nature of the ultrasound tech until Elise reminded me as we were waiting in the tiny reception area, knees drawn to our chests so as not to dimple the personal bubbles of the other couple there. “You remember,” she started, “He’s the one who always says, ‘Jesus Christ!’”
No, I hadn’t remembered this, though it would all soon come rushing back to me.
After a few minutes of requisite pleasantries, the doctor invited Elise onto the examining table. She sat down, crinkling tissue paper, and leaned herself back.
“Oh! Jesus Christ, right!” the doctor exclaimed, noticing the obvious challenge in gently lowering oneself with a 38-week belly. Elise smiled wanly and would later tell me that wasn’t exactly what she was thinking, though perhaps appropriate at the time.
The doctor greased Elise’s belly up and got to work, quickly finding the head, kidneys, femur and hair! The discovery of each vital organ was accompanied by a reassuring, “SOOOOO NICE!” or “SOOOOO GOOD!” I appreciated his enthusiasm as to the biological soundness of our soon-to-be-born-baby-girl.
I cringed as he measured the circumference of the head, hoping he wouldn’t tell Elise the exact measurement, or, perhaps more accurately, hoping he wouldn’t tell me so I would have to imagine the exact measurement. But he didn’t. It was, however, “SOOOO NICE!”
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