Taking a six and a half year old to an early ultrasound


img_7840Prince Charming pulled Cutie #1 out of school a touch early, drove up to Bakersfield and met me in the parking lot at the doctor’s office. He slept in the car and was unpleasantly groggy when they parked.
“We’re going to see the baby”
Not interested.
“I know you’re tired, but I need you to get out of the car.”

Sullen silence.

This is not a child who lacks words for nearly everything. He is creepily like his mother this way. Try arguing with yourself. Horrible, right? Welcome to my world.

We had a little time beforehand, and we needed to make a four-year well child visit for Cutie #2, so we walked over to our pediatrician’s packed office and took care of that. Thank God, “Wild Kratts” was on. Thank you, Okezie Pediatrics, for showing PBS in the waiting room. Cutie #1 feigned a smile, sat down and watched his favorite show.

Then, we had to leave before the show was over. God help us. Seriously. Help us. Sullen Cutie got up, moped, dragged his feet, and walked out. Seriously, he is a Mini Me.

We got into the ultrasound room, and our tech got us started. I could see out of the corner of my eye that #1 was transfixed on the screen. Our clinic has a truly swanky ultrasound room with resplendent decor and overstuffed furniture. It would be better with movie theater seating, popcorn and cup holders, but I digress.

Our UST (Ultrasound Tech) announced that my uterus is twisted. Oh boy. Thankfully, not understood by the audience. We’d need to do a vaginal ultrasound. Oh boy. An unanticipated anatomical lesson awaits…

Sparing you the details, Cutie #1 was momentarily distressed, but relaxed after a quick, honest, and concise explanation.

Then, Cutie #3 appears on the screen. I am in love. Deeply, madly, passionately. Again. Like only a mother can be. #1 is unimpressed.

“It looks like a monster”
I smile, “Yes, it kind of does look like a monster.”
I look at our UST, and say, “I guess bringing a six-year-old in here can be interesting.”
She, too, is smiling, “They are the best. I love their imaginations.”
In the background I hear, “I’m six and a half.” Yes, you are. Sorry about that.
She’s the perfect tech for us. She’s still smiling.

Cutie #1 goes on the describe the developing younger sibling in various ways I hope never come up again during an argument, and I chuckle. He’s right. Humans are not the most esthetically pleasing at 7 weeks in utero.