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The standard storyline calls for an ultrasound at the halfway point, at around twenty weeks, where they can tell you with moderate assurance what kind of junk your kid is packing. And, sure, they also check for other important things, like whether that heart’s got its four parts and the brain its two. With our melange of medical appointments up to this point, our storyline has been written slightly differently, and our kid’s had a pronoun for a couple months already. But we were still very excited to take another peek inside.

In the last few weeks Perquackey has gotten really active with his kicking, and now that we’ve seen the ultrasound, I think I know why. He’s huge! And got nowhere to go! He’s packed in there like a spring-loaded snake in a jar of nuts. I’d be kicking too if I was forced to keep myself folded up for 24 hours a day for months on end. I feel terrible for the little guy.

He was definitely interested in making this point to the ultrasound tech, who got audibly frustrated as he continuously shifted around throughout the scan. She persisted, and eventually got us a few quality shots of his blue-ribbon spine, his little “ding ding,” his freakish devil eyes, his amniotic fluid-gulping mouth, and his tiny little hands, which from their position were either engaged in a game of hide-and-seek or were clawing at the walls of the womb in a desperate effort to escape. We’ll ask him which one when he’s out and older. Meanwhile, it’s given the two of us an awesome new gesture to mimic every time we talk about him.

Sadly we only have printouts from the ultrasound, no video. It was verboten. It’s too bad, because it’s really only when you see a video of the kid moving around INSIDE SARAH’S TUMMY that you realize how fucking crazy this whole mammalian gestation thing really is.

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