One Down, Two To Go

November 30, 2009

Trimesters, that is. I just saw my doctor for the first time – they’re really pretty laissez-faire at this medical practice; I like that – and she says all looks good.

She dopplered (I’m sure this is the correct, official medical term) my belly – imagine slathering your midriff with jam and then rolling the head of a microphone around on it – and we heard The Olive’s heartbeat hammering away in there at about 170 beats per minute. 170 BPM would be grave cause for concern when dealing with a 60-year-old on a treadmill, but apparently it’s well within normal limits for your average 12-week fetus.

Eric and I opted to forgo most of the genetic testing, despite the fact that I am now over 35 and at heightened risk for just about everything, if you believe the reports (hopefully the numbers for “pale” and “uncoordinated” don’t spike dramatically, as Baby Foster is already well behind the genetic 8-ball on both counts). But I did receive an exhaustive list – 30 diseases! – of everything the baby will be screened for upon arrival.

One of these diseases, I kid you not, is something called “Maple Syrup Urine Disease.” I’m sure this is something debilitating and horrible, but I can’t shake the image of a magical, sought-after child whose pee is delicious on pancakes.


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