Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Odds and Ends

Ann had another ultrasound yesterday. I didn't go to this one, and it's probably best that I didn't, given that she wasn't terribly pleased with her technician, who took most of the measurements with the screen turned away, ostensibly so that the gender wouldn't be revealed. It means she missed out on all the fun of seeing the little guy moving around and such, and didn't get a good face photo.

It resulted in tears at Target in part due to the experience, and in part due to the fact that she apparently wanted to eat every cookie there. So on one hand, sadness. On the other, hey, cookies.

The first ultrasound was strange for me, as a lot of this has been for me so far - it's as if my job is completely done in this and now I'm just the dutiful husband who provides emotional support until the little guy decides to join us. As someone who has a "fixer" type personality, I spend a lot of time feeling helpless as all sorts of stuff goes on. I just want to hit the fast forward button a bit, but that's not how it works.

And yet we're still on the back end of this. Four more months!


So now for some funnier stuff. Ann (and she's fine with me posting this) started lactating a few weeks ago. At first it was just a little, but she was just leaky leaky leaky putting the Christmas tree up. She plans to breastfeed, and I'm happy about that - I'm not totally convinced of the "breastfeeding is the best way period and you're setting your child up for failure if you do formula" mindset, but I think it's a good thing and I'm glad Ann agrees.

Let's be honest, though. NOTHING up to this point has grossed me out as much as this did.

I don't know if it was the visual, or just the fact that I figured that they, like, switched on following birth or something, but I assume my complete and total lack of preparation for that probably contributed to my immediate discomfort. It's something I'll get over (it's not like I have a choice), but hey.

Progress, though: I offered her a band-aid!


A postscript to the lactation thing: my mother wasn't too pleased with the trimming of the tree - apparently she's an Alzheimer's sufferer who hates Christmas now - but Ann was talking about reading stories where pregnant women begin lactating at the sound of babies crying, and it turns out that her body might actually just end up forming an association with my mother yelling at her.

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