It was a new and different location, so we left ourselves plenty of time, and rolled into the office at 7:45 for an 8 am apt. Not surprisingly, we were the only patients there for awhile, until another clearly pregnant younger woman strolled in and gave us a look as if to say ‘ha – you call THAT a bump?’. I briefly considered ‘taking it outside’ but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have taken her – ‘mother lion defending her cubs’ and what not. Regardless, in short order we were called into the back and followed the technician to the exam room.

Now, we had been told that this sonographer was ‘the best’, but since she happened to work in our doctor’s husband’s practice, I had my doubts. But she was tremendous – we were in there for 3 seconds and she had the goop on Kim’s stomach and was already pushing the wand around looking for Chi-Baba. And that’s when the troubles arose.

Nothing bad, of course. Didn’t mean to scare you. See, the issue that was immediately apparent to her (not to us – I felt like were watching a scrambled movie – you could kinda make out what was going on but it wasn’t particularly satisfying) was that our doctor had overestated the age of the baby. They had us close to 19 weeks, but the sonographer (after drawing dotted lines to measure – uh – ‘body parts’ or at least ‘amorphous fuzzy blobs’) estimated us at 17 weeks, 3 days. (which is a very specific estimate by the way). Consequently, she told us, she couldn’t make out enough that was going on in there, other than the cereal Kim had for breakfast (had no idea she swallowed fruit loops whole).

The end result is that we need to go back in a few weeks for another ultrasound, which is fine with us. Finally, after all the technical stuff, she went about trying to take some pictures for us, which i have posted below. We’re pretty sure now, unfortunately, that it’s not a kitty (much to the relief, I’m sure, of that male stray cat that hangs out around our house). And now we finally have some baby pictures we can put in our wallets and show people when they ask about the pregnancy (‘here’s it’s leg’, ‘that’s either a spine or there was a lizard under the exam table’,'that, apparently, is a very cute pose, we’re told’,etc.)

We have another appointment for a regular checkup in a few weeks, and then the ultrasound after that. I hope the kid doesn’t expect this kind of attention when it comes out…

Click on any image to view an enlarged version.  Print out each picture and play “Guess the Gender” with your family.  Or at least “Fuzzy Blob: Part of Baby or Part of Kim’s Guts?”

Baby spine or random lizard?

The Baby is’Vogueing’ – Hands in front of his face from a top down perspective.

Some picture of the baby – with a Roswell looking face that is apparently the baby’s stomach.

The ‘whole shabang’ – you can see the leg and spine.

The ‘leg extended’ I’m told.

After a seeming eternity, we finally had another baby appointment. Our last was just after our return from Las Vegas, back in November, and so we were happy to see the doc again and make sure that everything is going ok. If you’ve never had kids before, I’ll give you the heads up that, at least for your first kid, you will worry when pretty much anything odd happens. Weird pains, excessive fatigue, excessive energy, spontaneous yodeling. Honestly, I think half the reason we visit the OBGYN so often during pregnancy is to keep us sane – the reassuring “it’s fine, really”, “that’s entirely normal,” and “that particular condition only affects penguins so I doubt it’s an issue” from a qualified physician really allays fears – at least for a few days.

Anyway, the coming of the new year, in addition to bringing us yet another dubious reason for Ryan Seacrest to invade my life, found us traveling to our doctor’s new office, which was a bit further from the old office. The new digs are definitely nice – much more spacious than the older, cramped office. The only issue is that, of course, we rolled in on the first day of operations in the new office. No one was really sure what to do – we went to the main office and they gave us a sheet and told us to go to another office. The lady in that office wasn’t sure what to do with the sheet, so she told us to hang onto it and give it to the doctor. Then another lady came in, grabbed our sheet and gave it to the other lady, who then told her to give it back to us. Then a circus clown walked in with a pregnant poodle in a tutu, and everything went to hell. And to top it off, the cable wasn’t hooked up, so I couldn’t get my Regis and Kelly fix.

After a shorter wait than normal (apparently in all the confusion they forgot about the interminable wait) we were ushered in to an exam room. After a quick sprint to the bathroom for the requisite urine sample, it was Kim’s turn. After she finished giving her sample, she stopped at the scale, and then again we found ourselves waiting for Fran Drescher. In she bounded, a bundle of energy in a 5 foot frame. And for once, she spent some genuine quality time with us. Usually, we feel like she’s got the Virgin Mary in Exam 2 and she’s gotta get through us quick before she can go check in on a fetal Jesus, but this time she was chatty. She asked about the optional tests (we said no), asked how Kim was feeling (2 parts tired, 7 parts awesome, 1 part peeing), and whether we had any other questions. The only one we had was flying – the answer is apparently up until the last month, simply because after that point it’s very hard to fly the plane with an engorged stomach pressing on the wheel.

After the chat, it was down to business. The doc reached for something she called a Doppler, which is apparently OBGYN slang for “tummy microphone.” This particular Doppler, she explained, was not her “favorite” Doppler, which apparently had been misplaced in the move, or possibly loned to Channel 9 weather. In any case, she rubbed goo on Kim’s stomach and preceded to fish for our baby’s heartbeat. After a few minutes, she declared that she could hear the heartbeat, but that we could not, again due to this ‘lousy doppler’. So, much to our great delight, she ran up and down the halls in search of the portable ultrasound machine. After some searching, the device was found and wheeled into the room. She hooked it up and within moments we were feasting our eyes upon the visage of our unborn child, which, I am disappointed to say, appears not to be a kitty.

The fetus, complete with arms, legs and such, didn’t seem to be a huge fan of the ultrasound. It looked a bit like Lennox Louis, taking several jabs, two uppercuts, even a low blow at the sounds coming from “outside water world.” Either that, or he/she has been plotting his/her escape and has been slowly trying to claw its way out of Kim’s belly button. While that would probably be intensely painful for Kim, I can’t help wondering what it might look like.

Our window into the womb was all too fleeting (free ultrasounds genuinely are) and soon they were wheeling the magical device back to the Cruise’s and we were ushered out the door, back to the front desk, with our sheet of paper still in hand. The lady in the front reluctantly took it this time, figuring someone probably should. I’m pretty sure I heard her file it in the shredder. We set up our next OBGYN appointment for January 3oth, and also booked our 19 week ultrasound with a professional sonographer. Should be interesting.

All in all, it was a good visit to the doctor. And now we only have a week or two until the next appointment, when we’ll get a really good look at Chi-Baba. It should be interesting…

We’ve just returned from a quick trip home to Philadelphia to celebrate my parents 60th birthdays. Both birthdays have passed, but we thought it would be fun to surprise them with a party with friends and family. It went very well, and I think my dad was pretty surprised. Of course, requisite with any milestone party beyond 40 (beyond the inflatable innertube for the ‘roids) is a montage of “growing up photos” for the birthday guy and gal. I spent a few days putting this together with help from my sister and it turned out pretty good.

To frame the pictures with some sort of “chronological reference point” (or CRP), I decided to grab hit songs from around the periods of which the photos were taken. For example, for the 1960s I chose Penny Lane by the Beatles since it represents (loosely) growing up in suburbia (possibly on acid). For the 1970s/80s, which consisted mainly of pictures of my parents and the kids (mostly my brother and sister because being a third child, “film prices were high” or so I am told), I got lazy and chose We Are Family by the immortal group Sister Sledge, whom I had never heard of until I wikipedia’d them just now. For the baby pictures, I wanted a hit song from the year of their birth, and after some searching I decided on “Chi-Baba, Chi-Baba” by Perry Como. Listen here. I purchased the MP3 from Amazon and dropped it into the presentation.

Now, I’ve done a few of these montages before, most notably for my wedding. And the one truism of the process of making one is that the first song in the montage invariably gets played over and over during testing. I’ve never heard of this Perry Como tune before, but now it’s ETERNALLY ETCHED IN MY BRAIN. I find myself humming at work, singing it in the shower, shouting it at clients over the phone (“Listen, CHI-BABA, you site will be done when I finish sobering up…”), even scratching the lyrics into bathroom stalls all over town. (“For a good time, download “Chi-Baba Chi-Baba” by Perry Como”) Kim has been subjected to the mind altering velvety tones of Mr. Como nearly as much as I have, and I’ve caught her secretly singing the tune as well.

And while I think that a small (or large) part of me would like to have the song surgically removed from my brain (which unfortunately would most likely turn me into a blathering idiot, at least moreso than usual) than to have to continue to have Perry Como roaming through my prefrontal cortex (is there a “frontal cortex”, by the way?), he has at least solved a vexing issue for us.

Beyond the larger “baby naming” issue that we have been attempting to make some progress on (“Umberto? No? How about Periwinkle? Why are you looking at me like that?”), we’ve also been grappling with the “fetal naming” issue. You see, everyone seems to have pet names for their unborn offspring, things like “Peanut,”, “Spot,”, “Jelly Bean,” “Whoops” (I think that was mine), “TBD”, or “Johnny Q. McFetus” to name a few. We’ve been struggling to come up with one that we actually liked and had some meaning to us.

Well, I can say now, with some certainty and entirely without consulting my wife, that thanks to my parents 60th birthdays, WikiPedia, Amazon.com and the sultry tones of one Mr. Perry Como, the bundle of throbbing flesh roiling in Kim’s gut shall henceforth be referred to as…

Chi-Baba.

At least until my wife reads this, and says “no way.”

We started the visit with a nurse who asked us a series of questions we hadn’t heard before, such as “Does your family have a history of birth defects,” or “Do either of you have genital herpes?”, and our favorite “Are you at increased risk for the Fifth Disease?” We’re not entirely sure what that particular disease is, or the other four that apparently precede it. Maybe it’s a staging thing (“What’s wrong with your face? Oh, it’s just Third disease – I’m hoping it will increment soon.”) After dutifully recording our answers, she disappeared and left us to ourselves for a good half an hour.

In my experience, there’s always a sequence you follow when sitting in an examination room waiting for the doctor. First off, you look around at all the signs and gadgets that are in the room. In a regular doctor’s office, this may include fiddling with the blood pressure monitor, or chomping down on a tongue depressor, or possibly looking in the biohazard trashcan (something I don’t recommend). It’s even more fascinating in an OBGYN’s office, especially being a man. I have fun pointing at various medieval looking devices and asking questions like “Where do they insert THAT?” or “Is that…? Eww.” After a few minutes of that, I usually page through the ancient health magazines (“Amazing Medical Breakthrough Sweeping Colonies: Blood Letting Deemed ‘Miracle Cure’”), and then flip through the informational pamphlets (“Speculums and You”). After that, the rest of the time is spent in uncomfortable silence as you stare at that clock, with every noise you hear in the hall giving you that false hope that the someone might remember that you are still in here, waiting. Finally, when you’ve just about given up and lie back on the exam table, they invariably walk in, and you sit up quickly, embarrassed.

Once the doctor arrived, she quickly went over my wife’s blood test results. Gonorrhea? Negative. AIDS? Negative. Hmm, the syphilis test appears blank. Let me go check on that. Wait, there it is. Negative. Bloodworms? Negative.

Then she spent a little time going over the “pregnancy diet.” Here is the gist of it: you can basically eat nothing that tastes good, and you need to eat more of it than you usually would. For example, she said to avoid fast food, processed food, unpasteurized food, booze and sweets. Soylent green is apparently ok (lots of protein), but Brie is not (unpasteurized). Ham off the bone is ok (not processed), while SPAM should be avoided. Eating fire is ok (high in calories) but eating glass is to be avoided (could cause stomach discomfort). We decided that we will be diligent and follow these rules to a fault. Or at least she will. I will balance the equation by eating and drinking all the things that she cannot. I’m willing to take this sacrifice. Pass the booze, please.

Next, the doctor brought up a series of optional prenatal tests that can be done to determine some birth defects reasonably early on. One test was for cystic fibrosis, another was for chromosomal disorders, and there was another one but I can’t remember what it was for. One of the tests was essentially a blood test to determine whether she or me are carriers, which could essentially rule out the possibility but not say for certain whether the fetus had it or not. Another of the tests was a detailed ultrasound with a specialized “sonographer,” who I envision looks like some scrawny kid with thick glasses and large headphones in a submarine staring at a screen of green fuzz and yelling things like “Contact! 67 degrees starboard!”

It is entirely up to us whether we want to take these extra tests. We discussed it somewhat, but the doctor pointed out that unless there is a thought of terminating the pregnancy, or wanting to “be prepared” in case of the worst, there really isn’t any reason to take the tests other than peace of mind. I think we both agree that we intend to carry to term regardless, and so I’m pretty sure we are going to skip this round of tests. Plus, the possibility that I will have to give blood is a definite deterrent – I generally only spill my blood when honor dictates it, for example in duels and for paternity tests.

Finally, the doctor had Kim lie down, smothered her stomach in some weird blue goop, and then hooked up a karoake machine to it. The baby, after some coaxing, broke into a rousing rendition of “Wipeout” with his/her heartbeat. It was good to hear that everything was ok in there, but it wasn’t an ultrasound, which is simply far more exciting than hearing a heartbeat amidst the “other” rumblings in Kim’s gut.

And that was it. Within an hour, we found ourselves back in the car, heading to Dunkin Donuts to follow through with our plan to diligently adhere to the “pregnancy diet.” 25 Munchkins later…

It was a phenomenal trip, and I think that we saw nearly everything that the Strip has to offer – everything from David Copperfield all the way down to an animatronic Bacchus celebrating the mirth and merriment of an upscale shopping mall.
We stayed at 4 hotels, ate at 7 different restaurants for dinner in 6 different casinos, saw 3 full fledged Vegas shows, wandered the new Strip and the old Strip, and made some money at the roulette machine. And throughout it all, one question kept coming up, over and over:

TOURISTS OF LAS VEGAS: WHAT ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF?

Honestly, I’ve never been in so many pictures in my life. Sure, people were taking pictures of the normal things: casinos, fountains, drunken revelers puking into overflowing trashcans. But a lot of people were pointing cameras in directions that were just plain odd. Random walls. Ceilings. One gentlemen somehow convinced a cop on a Segway to allow him to tape him moving about on his “crazy contraption.” But my personal favorite was the fella who was intently videotaping a plasma TV that was displaying a video of a casino that hasn’t been built yet. What a wonderful memory that will be for him.

Anyway, I’ve prepared a smattering of reviews and insights regarding Las Vegas for your reading pleasure:

The Excalibur - Please, PLEASE turn one of your medieval turrets into a smokestack. This place holds cigarette smoke worse than a chimney. I felt like I was at a 24 hour AA meeting. With booze.

The Bellagio - You sounded too expensive to even walk through. Nice fountains, though.

Circus Circus – If there is justice and hope in the world, people will strap you with explosives and turn you into a parking lot for some better casino, or possibly some kind of missile proving ground. Kim and I both hope never to return.

New York, New York - Great casino, but low on authenticity. Free parking? Come on, do your homework!

David Copperfield – Amazing. But you couldn’t make my wife’s school loans disappear. I bet David Blaine could.

Cirque Du Soleil – Intriguing? Yes. Mind boggling? Sometimes. Bizarre? Definitely.

Madame Tussauds – I’m taller than J. Lo? AWESOME.

So anyway, the blog should now return from it’s traveling detour back to the topic at hand, the quickly growing alien being attempting to claw it’s way out of Kim’s stomach. The OBGYN beckons only a few days after our return…

We arrived finally Tuesday morning after the aforementioned overnight ordeal.  We were exhausted, hungry and dirty from the experience, and were somewhat unprepared for the realities of Vegas that smack you right in the face the moment you get off the plane.  Twenty feet from the boarding gate was a bank of slot machines.  Hell, slot machines are EVERYWHERE here.  In restaurants, gas stations, the library, the courthouse.  After we made our way through the terminal, we were greeted by the Times Square of baggage claims.  This place was an all-out assault of advertising, with giant screens plastered in 360 degree splendor,  coaxing us to go see Tony Danza in the Producers (probably not), Celine Dion in her last year (finally?) or Carrot Top (…).  Luckily our bags came quick and we were off to get our rental car and head over to the strip.

The Mirage is definitely a nice hotel, and we were glad that we picked it.  We’re here Tuesday night and tonight, and then tomorrow we move to Treasure Island which is right next door (it had a cheaper Thanksgiving rate).  We’ve decided to forego our trip to Utah to see Bryce and Zion in favor of staying in Vegas and day tripping to Red Rock Canyon (which is somewhat nearby) and some other local attractions.  That necessitated more hotels and more price-jockeying, so Friday we are at a Westin, and then Saturday and Sunday we are at New York New York.  Confused yet?

So far baby hasn’t been too much of an issue, other than a more urgent need to find food at more times during the day – they say you should have 6 mini-meals instead of 3 large meals, although we haven’t been following that too closely.  Our eating has been somewhat more determined by price more than anything else – turns out Vegas is expensive.  Who knew?  We’ve done ok so far – we had dinner at the Venetian yesterday and at an Irish pub in New York New York today.  Other than a lot of walking and eating, we have taken in 2 attractions – a Cirque du Soleil show (weird) and a Titanic Artifact Exhibit (neat).  Not sure what else is on the books…

We did a little gambling so far – we actually threw $26 into a electronic roulette machine and walked away with $126 in about 10 minutes.  Not too shabby.  I also had one of those zen gambling moments – we were about to leave with about $70 when I said to Kim – “Let’s just throw one more dollar in and see what happens.”  You know the rest – boom – the number comes up.  Am I a gambling genius because of this?  Probably.

So anyway, we’re having a good time in the desert, trying to keep our bodies fed and our wallets fat.  Not sure that either one is going so well, but we are having fun…

• A comb

• A toothbrush and toothpaste

• Dove “Powder” Deodorant

• Shampoo (!) – And where exactly am I supposed to use this? Lather, flush, repeat?

• A spray bottle of hairspray – flammable hairspray, I should say

• A “safety” razor and some shaving cream

Wait – did the airline really give us a razor? I get strip searched for forgetting to dump my nail clippers, and they GIVE me a razor if I have to stay here a while? Beyond security? Really? Well, I guess I can finally fulfill my lifelong dream of dropping a razor in the razor slot in the airplane bathroom now. Shaving mid-flight sounds fun too.

The airport is a surprisingly busy place at night. There are several other “distressed passengers” as we are called, randomly interspersed among the gates. The sleeping arrangement of choice seems to be bringing two chairs facing each other and putting your feet up, but I found that a bit uncomfortable. Kim is currently lying face down on the carpeted (over concrete) floor and seems somewhat content (she can sleep anywhere). I’m not that good at sleeping in odd places, so I’m amusing myself giving funny names and back stories to the random workers that wander by. (Why there’s Tony the “Tonester”, the mysterious jet mechanic, who, similar to Dr. Doolittle, can literally talk to planes, or Esmerelda, the gruff janitor with a heart of gold, who picks scraps of chicken tacos out of the trash to take home to her hundreds of abandoned kittens) . I think I’ve already lost my mind, and there’s still a ways to go before we board our flight.

Also, you may not know this, but do you know that recording they play constantly in airports about “not accepting bags from unknown people” and “leaving your bag unattended may force us to blow it up”? Yeah, they totally play it every 20 minutes, ALL NIGHT LONG. Despite the fact that 90% of the people here at these ungodly hours are workers, and the other 10% is just trying to sleep at all in this well-lit palace of gates and terminals. ALL NIGHT LONG.

Well anyway, we’re stuck here for another 5 hours, so if you feel motivated, please address your care packages to Terminal C, Gate 73. We’re the ones holed up in the corner, me with the laptop on a $8 one day internet pass, and her curled up in some complimentary airplane blankets and 4 tiny pillows doing her best to sleep. And baby? Well, he/she is getting his/her money’s worth this week in”pre-life” experiences…

PHOTO GALLERY

The “Tonester”	Luxury Suite
The Wife	Blog Creation Spot