We have had 2 more ultrasounds since the last post. The first was the level II – where they can see all the bits up close and personal. We saw lips, the heart chambers, even little toes. Of course I didn’t see as well as Baldwin (bad angle) and truth be told, I am not exactly sure what I’m looking at most of the time. But the doctor said everything is right on track, and that s/he is supposed to look just like that.

Speaking of “s/he” I am still standing firm that I don’t want to know the sex of the baby until after he or she arrives. Sadly, I am the only one who feels this way. Foster and Harrison are still split on their hopes for a girl or a boy (respectively) and are campaigning furiously for me to change my mind. And poor Baldwin really wants to find out too – he doesn’t care what the gender is, but he really wants to know. I told him he should find out, just because I don’t want to doesn’t mean he can’t find out. He has just as much right as I do… but our doctor said that rarely works out for the best. In the end he’s being sweet and “respecting my wishes.”

So Baldwin’s plan was to study the level II ultrasound very carefully. Which he did. And after it was over, he told me that at one point he thought to himself, “hey! I know what that is. I see two round organs… and an oblong thing in the center… hey …” and then the sonogram technician flatly stated, “…and these are the baby’s kidneys.” Nice.

Yesterday we had another ultrasound. Not scheduled, but we promised the kids we’d take them to one. Since all of our other doctor appointments have been first thing in the morning, when the kids are at school, we asked our doctor and he said, “Oh sure, I’ll slap an ultrasound on you if the kids come.” Which was really nice of him. Unfortunately the baby was sleeping, so there wasn’t much action, but Foster thought the beating heart was amazing, and Harrison giggled for about 15 minutes when the doctor said, “That’s the baby’s butt.” Ah, 8 year-old humor.

Elevated sense of humor aside, Harrison has been really, really interested in the baby, and all that comes along with it. The other night he asked me, “Sandy, what happens if the baby comes in the middle of the night?” I thought he was just concerned that we would leave him home alone, so I tried to comfort him by saying, “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll probably have Nai Nai and Yeh Yeh come watch you… we won’t leave you alone, buddy.” He just looked at me quizzically and said matter of factly, “Uh, no. I’m coming to the hospital. I just want to make sure you wake me in time.” I told him that sometimes babies take a long time to arrive… like hours and hours. His response? “That’s okay. I’ll just wait.” Me: “In the hospital waiting room?” Harrison, “Of course not. I’m coming in with you.” This just stopped me in my tracks. Much as Harrison has been a comfort to me, I wasn’t sure I wanted him IN THE DELIVERY ROOM. So I told him there wasn’t a lot of room, and they usually only let one person in with the mother. He hung his head, looked quite dejected and muttered, “Oh. The husband.”

When we asked Foster if she wanted to come to the hospital in the middle of the night as well, she looked at us just as incredulously as Harrison, but said, “Uh, no. And don’t wake me. I’ll find out when I get up.”

Now that’s a girl after my own heart.