And Little A is busting off the charts at 6.8cm, measuring 13 weeks. Nuchal fold is measuring 1.12mm (!!!) and Little A has a pronounced nasal bone. (A little Cyrano de Bergerac-ish at first until the ultrasound tech mentioned the shadow. Yowza.) I'm beginning to breathe a bit easier. I had blood drawn for the triple screen and will know the results next week. I'm beginning to believe (dare I say it?) that there's a good chance that things might work out. Dare I hope?
In other news, the ultrasound tech said that they wouldn't even opine on the sex until 18 weeks. A few minutes later, she circled a very noticeable protuberance between my little fetus's legs and said, I quote, "you can draw your own conclusions from that." So, either my little A hoodwinked the ultrasound tech and somehow manipulated a very long arm between its legs or Little A could very possibly be a member of the penis clan. As one who still can't believe that at 39 she's actually pregnant, and with a human, I am again at a loss for words. A little boy.
I'm less in love with the ob's office. We sat in the waiting room for 35 minutes before I asked when I would be seen. "Did you sign in? (of course.) Oh, you're here for an ultrasound, that's across the hall (that would have been helpful....35 minutes ago). " After developing such warm relationships at the RE's office, I'm now just another face. A slightly bloated face at that. In the grand scheme of things though, I have not lost sight of how very fortunate I am to be sitting in an ob's office at all, so bitch I shall not.
Dare I say it again? All's well.