Law of Average

"The last one was kinda sad"
"Sorry"
"No.  I just thought it was really sad."
"Ok.  I wanted to get it out there.  I just wanted to be honest.":
"I know."
"I got it... I'll tell people how I nearly missed the first ultrasound?"
"Oh God..."

I was being my friendly neighborhood responsible self and driving 80 MPH on hwy 280  during the kind of fierce, sheeting October rainstorm that causes your wipers to be ineffective and SUPER glad your wife isn't in the car to listen to you swear and watch you swerve. I had left work early that day and dressed nicely for a change. (A snazzy business casual lewk N' dress shoes versus my normal daily hoodie + tennis shoe outfits..) AND?  I had a big night planned-

I was going to finally "meet" my kid.  Ultrasound-ically speaking.

The ultrasound earlier in the year had bad news, so it was with a lot of stress and trepidation that we stared at the appointment date on the calendar with caution.  Of course, since she WORKED in Saint Paul my wife had to go a mere 5 minutes from her office to a clinic located near the Wabasha Street Caves whereas I had to drive home, let out the dog, then book it across another city to make it.   I felt pretty confident I'd given myself enough time to be there for the whole ordeal...until I saw the bright red line of brake lights and the pop-up "Road Closed" sign MNDOT is so fond of surprising you with...and then I started sweating.

I was re-routed, turned backwards, and watched as minute by minute passed all while my phone "binged" messages from my wife.  "I'm here!".  "Are you far?".  "They're calling my name, I hope you're close!"  Here, I was going to miss my first milestone.  And here I was being directed farther and farther away from my wife.  4:15.  4:20.  4:30 (the appointed time.)  Listen...

Ultrasounds never really impressed me, TBH.  Most of the time? Best you hope for is this weird Rorscach test looking blobby image, or something that resembles a black and white hoodless Skeletor.  Friends and family used to share pictures over social media and I was like "Oh!  Congrats on your distorted Ansel Adams print!' 

NOW?

You can get super funky 3D images pf your growing pamp, and the machinery used to take it is more akin to the bridge of the USS Enterprise.  I made the stupid joke  that when they did ultrasounds in the 70's, (like on me), it usually meant the doctor would balance their ashtray on the mom's belly while they psychically drew a picture on a piece of papyrus next to the gurney of what they thought the baby looked like. (My fetal drawing was unusually accurate for 1974, in that it had me with a wild perm and crazed gaze.)  It's fancy shit. is what I'm screaming.  None of this mattered as I careened into the parking lot and managed to sprint up to the baby ward while wearing tasteful brown shoes, pitting out and panting as the check-in admin looked at me and asked if I was there with a mother.  They were able to usher me back, and as I found my way to the viewing room and my wife (and her already happy/teary face, which I took to mean good news)  I was super grateful they took another minute for a second showing...spritzing my wife's tummy with the belly jelly so I could see the floating blob that I'd eventually know to be my daughter.  Better still?  Our very kind nurse said 'she looks normal'.

Normal.  Average.  Unremarkable.  Words that for years meant sub-par for some, felt pretty good in terms of having a healthy mama and baby.  And that was more than good enough for the both of us.  So.  Now we knew that we definitively had a kid on the way.  The certainty was there.  

Now we just needed to kill 7 more months?  Uggggghhh...I hate waiting.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMyCa35_mOg