The deformity scan

Yesterday was finally the day of the ”deformity scan”. I'm not calling it that as some kind of pathetic joke. That is what it is called in Denmark. They had the options of "20 week scan", "midpregnancy scan" and ”deformity scan” and went with the latter (I imagine so it would be paid for by taxes). I couldn't help but being affected by the name. Unlike the my scan with The Lorax at the same point in pregnancy, I was really worried.

There has been a lot of negative energy in our life lately. Not because of anything bad in particular, but because SR and I work way too much. And that is all I have to say about that. But am I wrong in believing that when there is negative energy and a feeling of ”unluckiness” that things tend to go badly?

The weeks leading up to the scan seemed to take eons. And the more time that went by, the more nervous I became. But when friends and family talked to me about the scan, they simply wanted to know the following: ”are you one of those people who wants to find out the sex?” and then, since I always answered ”yes, I'm one of those people”, they would ask what my preference was. Well, just because one wants to know certainly doesn't mean one has a preference. I just feel that knowing the sex somehow allows me to imagine the little one better and more specifically direct all of my love. SR and I had discussed it a lot and there were pluses and minuses to both. The biggest plus to having a girl was that we loved the name we had picked out. Plus, people tend to look at families with one of each as balanced and perfect. But since our family will never come close to appearing balanced, with all of the confusing sibling, step-sibling relationships, that really wasn't a consideration. Finally, the day before the scan, I said that having a girl would be nice because it would be different. I was, of course, well aware that the odds were stacked against that. And right after I said it, I regretted it. Because – whatever it is – once you say it, you start to believe it. And before that, I really hadn't had much of a preference.

God, I write a lot of nothing these days.

So on the day of the scan, when they put the probe on my belly and the baby looked healthy, I burst out into tears. I was so happy. I imagine ultrasound techs are used to hormonal pregnant behavior. No matter what I wanted to believe or how I looked at the baby on the screen, it just looked like a boy. But maybe they all do. They went through every single organ, it seemed, before they got to the penis-clitoris matter. Then one of them said something about a ”tap” in Danish and I smiled at our little son. A ”tap” is a rod. Not the first word I use when describing a penis, but it was nonetheless clear that we were not expecting a girl with a rod.

(just goes to show you can't determine sex by the severity of nausea!)

When I got home, I finally got in touch with SR at work and he started crying like a baby, apparently right there in the middle of the hospital ward. ”I just get so happy imagining another Lorax” he said, choking on his words. I was afraid that this baby would somehow be ”just the fourth kid” to him; I cried too, mostly because I had underestimated my husband.

Meet Finnbjørn (again). And remember - that's just his name in utero :).

First from the outside


And from the inside




Running songs of the day: 1. Eager for your Love by Tristan 2. Civilian by Wye Oak

Take note of the poll to the right. My next post will talk about why it is pregnant women get injured while running - and what they (maybe) can do to avoid it