I think my brain is mush.
It's been almost two months since my last post... but I swear, my brain is not functioning in a blogging/writing sort of way.... and on top of that, I can't remember anything. I don't remember being this defunct with the other two, but then again, I probably won't remember this either.
Things -- like writing ideas, thoughts, etc. -- only show up in my mind in snippets... so I do a lot of drifting off in mid-sentence/mid-thought/etc.
Drives K. absolutely crazy.
"Finish your thought!" he'll bellow. I don't think the blank stare I give him in return helps. For someone who is laid back to the point of sometimes being comatose, he gets really agitated when I don't finish what I'm saying.
I've tried to point out that bellowing does not help me find my train of thought. It actually startles me, making the thoughts all jumble together... meaning I'll never remember what I was trying to say. Totally defeats the point of the bellowing to begin with.
Anyway, big news. I just returned from my big ultrasound.... and....
It's a surprise.
We decided early on that we didn't want to find out, and pleasantly enough, the kid cooperated. Wouldn't open his/her legs for anything. He/she has a perfect little profile and round belly... prefers to sleep on his/her belly as well. At this point, he/she is normal size... around the 67th percentile... so no massive bambino, as of yet. As the ultrasound lady was quick to point out, however, babies don't put on the majority of their weight until the third trimester, so there's hope still.
I'm hoping for a 10-pounder. Since I'll have a c-section, I'm not too concerned about how big he/she is.
Anyway, as odd as this is,I love my OB and look forward to my visits. He's really unique... very much his own person. He's from Cali... as in California.... and a little quirky. He is, seriously, one of the nicest people I've ever met in my entire life, and he is genuinely concerned about his patients. I had some blood issues when I had Laney, for example, and he actually came by to check on me while his wife was in surgery upstairs.
Keith and I joked a lot during my pregnancy with Laney that we kept expecting Doc to say things like, "Way cool!" or "Hang 10!".... as in "The little bambina is totally hangin' 10 in there!"
He didn't... but we kept hoping... :-) (I did find out that his brother is indeed a surfer, so at least we were close!)
He didn't totally disappoint us, though. In the delivery room, he gave an impromptu rendition of something from American Idol... until one of the nurses told him to stop. I don't remember what he sang because I was about 3 sheets in the wind... but I remember it being really funny.... and I remember wanting to laugh during most of the delivery because of his constant odd flow of conversation but not being able to... mostly because my brain and my body were totally not communicating under the influence of fabulous hospital drugs.
In fact, one of the few things (aside from the singing escapade) that I remember about the delivery room is that Doc laughed. A lot. At this point, I hope that he wasn't laughing at me... but I wasn't concerned then because he laughs all the time. If he'd been serious, I probably would've been freaked out. (He was very serious when he came to talk to me about the blood issues. Totally gave me the heebeejeebies.)
Back to today. After the ultrasound, K and I meet Doc in his office. He starts talking about my bloodwork, and while he's very serious, he describes issues with my blood by saying things like, "That's what tells the blood vessels to squeesh and stop bleeding."
It's hard to be very serious when your doctor is saying things like "squeesh"... but I figure words like that aren't easy to work into conversation about things that are really serious. On the other hand, neither K nor I know how to explain anything Doc said without using those words... He probably laughs every day, knowing his patients are going around explaining complicated medical things using words like "squoosh" and making funny sound effects.
At any rate, he rocks because he explains things in terms that I can understand and because he makes me laugh... unlike one of my other OBs from Knox-Vegas.
We called him The Big Tall Greek Doctor because, of course, he was huge. He was also the ninny that told me 4 weeks before delivery that my baby was going to be, at best, 6 1/2 lbs.
Whatever.
Ethan was 9 lbs. and ginormous.
Anyway,Big Tall Greek Doctor was nice enough, but I chose the other doctor, Dr. T., for my delivery because he was relatively amusing. It was a close call because Dr. T., despite his funniness, also looked alarmingly like a good friend's dad... and that kind of freaked me out. In the end, however, his humor was much more appealing. Plus, he didn't have freakishly large hands like Big Tall Greek Doctor. And thus the decision was made.
Dr. T. did a fabulous job -- minus the comment about me laying off the biscuits and gravy during my next pregnancy -- and managed to entertain me during the entire delivery (unscheduled c-section) by telling me, minutes before beginning, that I could do anything with my hands (which were laid out on this big cross-bar) except grab his butt.
I'm not kidding.
What did I do for the entire delivery? Try to will my hands to turn toward his butt. I didn't really want to grab it, but because it was my first experience with serious drugs, I was amazed by the fact that I could think things but not make my body or mouth obey. So, my train of thought for the entire delivery was, "Can I grab his butt? Hand, move. Move. Try to squeeze. Why aren't my fingers squeezing. How far away is his butt?"
You get the idea.
Post delivery, Big Tall Greek Doctor came in to check on me. Apparently, he was not pleased that I had not chosen him to deliver the baby/receive my next year's salary... and he was not pleasant. He pushed on my stomach -- hello, moron, I just had a c-section; that hurt! When I moved, he told me in a nasty voice that I'd have to lay still or he couldn't examine me.
I was still heavily medicated at that point, but I believe that was when I took a drunken swing at him.
He didn't seem to notice; apparently he either is used to people trying to hit him or he couldn't tell what I was doing as I had little-to-no control over my arm... but boy, if he could've been inside my head! I'd never been in a fight, but I was ready for my first one!
I didn't have to see him again, for which I was grateful... partly because I didn't like him and partly because I tried to deck him, albeit unsuccessfully.
Anywho, I'm sure this delivery will come with its own set of stories, especially since we don't know what he/she really is. I think we're going to have a 4-D ultrasound done, so hopefully I'll get some pictures to post (even though they are a little creepy). Baby 3 will be the first Jennings' kid to be recorded from announcement to birth into posterity via blog... something for which I'm sure he/she will be forever grateful... Sort of my revenge for all of those embarrassing stories Toad has told about me over the years...
