Nineteen, Nineteen, N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-nineteen

So yesterday was an auspicious day, my punkling, We got to see you again.

The 19 week ultrasound was always going to be interesting. In our first one, at a little over 5 weeks, you were too small to see... At our second, at 13 weeks, you wriggled far too much to allow us to take a decent photo of you. The video we took at the 13 week ultrasound was similarly compromised, with some form of gremlin induced problem that wiped the entire thing when we watched it on our VCR.

So you see, pumpkin, we actually, until now, have had very little evidence of your existence that we could share with the world at large. Not that we need "evidence", I mean, no-one thinks that you're a pillow up your mum's shirt, but it will be nice for people to be able to see you.

We bought along your Glamorous Aunt Jann to see the fun, which I figured was only fair, seeing as how she was going to Take Your Mother Shopping, an event that is worthy of a post all to itself.

The process itself went off without a hitch, apart from the hiccups in my brain every now and then.

I think the stage at which I really started to freak was when the lovely ultrasound operator (Narelle this time) began the ultrasound. She put the device on your mum's belly (after thoughtfully warming the gel) and began telling us where your head was. I understood, to this point, that you were growing rapidly, but when Narelle said that your head was down below your mum's belly button, and that your feet were up by her ribcage, the enormity of the situation (and you) took me by surprise.

Apparently your 'pinhead longbody' tendencies are beginning to change, in favour of a more rounded and progressive growth spurt. This is good, but simultaneously terrifying in that you are getting exponentially larger with every passing day.

About 3/4 of the way through the procedure, I remembered that a trained ultrasound operator can easily tell a baby's sex at this juncture, and I asked Narelle if she knew if you were a girl or a boy. She smiled and replied with a resounding "YES!"

It was at this point that your mother poked me.

We had decided long ago, pumpkin, that we were not going to find out your gender until you pop out. That it's immaterial in how we're going to treat you, or what we're going to buy before you're born, and that for that reason we don't need to find out.

Having said that, being right there and having Narelle say that she knew right then was almost too much for me. I'm a big fan, pumpkin, of instant gratification, and your mother knows this.

Hence the poking.

Love you, whether you're a boy or a girl (and only Narelle knows).