Oh man… don’t even. I can’t bring myself to look at how long it’s been since my last post, but what can I say? It’s TIFF season (aka the Toronto International Film Festival), which is the most insane time of year for me as an arts reporter, and it means I have barely a second to shove an occasional wad of street meat in my mouth, let alone blog. As a side note, if any of you have pressing questions for Mr. Harry Potter, I’m interviewing him in a few days, so pass those along. Also speaking with Dexter, and that hot guy from True Blood (Ryan whatever-his-name-is), and haven’t yet organized my notes on their upcoming films, so will gladly use my allotted 20 minutes with each for random subjects of conversation like, say, how they feel about breech deliveries.

Last time I had an ultrasound, it showed the little guy as being the kind of breech where his butt is down by my cervix—apparently any breech position leads to an automatic C-section in most U.S. hospitals because doctors want to avoid getting sued if anything goes wrong. But my mother was saying it’s likely for Canadian OBs to attempt a natural delivery if the baby starts coming out bum-first. Erm… this kind of freaks me out. I’d much rather try to turn him so his head is down where it should be, and at 33 weeks, I’m running out of time. I tried singing that “Turn, Turn, Turn” song repeatedly but then figured I may as well look up some other strategies online. This is where it gets hella weird, girls.

The first result that came up was 9 tips for turning your fetus. Among those tips? Applying an ice pack to the top of your stomach and a heating pack to your vajayjay; playing music through headphones positioned by your crotch, or “have Dad place his mouth on your lower abdomen [ed note: they really mean vagina] and talk to the baby, encouraging him or her to move towards the sound of his voice”; getting onto the floor on your hands and knees, then wiggling your butt around; or lying upside down, on a 45-degree angle — and note, “You can use large pillows or an ironing board to help you get into the slanted position.” Oh, can I? Great! So basically, if you want to find me, I’ll be here lying upside-down on a tilted ironing board with an ice pack on my stomach and a heating pad down below with my husband singing to my vagina. No probs. Seems SUPER scientific.

Anyone got any better ideas?

P.S. Bump pics page has been updated yet again, but don’t expect any major changes from 28 weeks to 32… same old tummy, basically.

Back in the day when I thought I could actually time when I was going to get pregnant (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…. ahahaha… ha), I had this master plan of getting knocked up in November, after the first frost, and then delivering a baby by mid-August, which would mean I’d avoid being preggo during ragweed season. This may seem a bit over-the-top to you non-allergy-sufferers who think late summer and fall is the most glorious time of the year, but in my case, I don’t just get a few sniffles, I get ITCHING OF SATANIC PROPORTIONS up in my nose, in my eyes, basically everywhere, before my body then decides that one mucus plug really isn’t enough — EVERYTHING NEEDS MUCUS, NOW. If I don’t take any meds, it’s torture; I once did a ragweed study at a hospital to make some extra cash, and when I realized I’d been dealt the placebo, I had to drop out early because it was impossible to sleep unless my face was submerged in a vat of Visine and nasal steroids. When they did the prick test on my wrist and waited to see if a spot of redness showed up, my ENTIRE ARM ended up in a huge rash.

For a while, I was on prescription-strength antihistamines, but I kept having to increase the dosage to the point where my doctor-mom actually seemed concerned about the potential for cardiac arrest. Then, in desperation, I decided to go out on a limb, do the all-natural thing, and try this nettle extract. Miraculously, it worked!

But now, it’s kind of up in the air whether or not I should be taking it. A lot of naturopaths insist it’s totally safe during pregnancy — and, in fact, is even used in hippie-oriented fertility treatments. And yet, as with many herbal remedies, there hasn’t been much in the way of real, concrete, double-blind studies to determine that it has no effect on the fetus. So I’m a bit hesitant to start taking it now.

I’ve read that Benadryl is OK for pregnant women (this site says “Benadryl is in the FDA pregnancy category B. This means that it is not expected to be harmful to an unborn baby,” and my mom says it’s fine), so I guess that’s what I’ll be taking, but I’m pretty sure it can also make you super drowsy. Any of you guys have advice?? The ragweed season has begun and I’m feeling like the odds are stacked against me. I did a nasal rinse last night and woke up this morning with nostrils chock-full of grossness.

P.S. On an unrelated note, I finally heard back from the organization that accepts donated cord blood and apparently I didn’t qualify as a candidate because I’d been to Kenya. Once. For less than a week, many years ago. Apparently some weird HIV strain that doesn’t show up on blood tests (??) is prevalent there, so that’s that. Kinda bummed, but on the up side, it means we don’t have to rush to cut the umbilical cord, hence a bit more oxygen for the babe.

Just to prove I don’t only wear white dress shirts and black yoga pants, here’s a photo of me at a friend’s wedding last week in Nova Scotia (yes, it’s taken in a bathroom).

A’ight, so first off, I’ve updated the Bump Pics page — technically, I’m 30 weeks but have just lied (to myself, to my baby, to the blogging world) and listed the pic as “28 weeks” because I like to keep things consistent. You may notice that while my belly is finally starting to grow and my bathroom is renovated, my frigging hair is determined to remain short. I thought pregnancy was supposed to make your hair all thick and luscious and whatever?! Ugh. Maybe I should just accept that ponytails are not in my near future.

Another note, before I get into all the ENTHRALLING updates about my uterine contents: I’ve been reading your blogs and trying to comment but stupid Open ID or WordPress will mess up 50% of the time, meaning my precious advice and witty remarks end up disappearing into an Internet black hole. So if you’re all, “What the eff, Yeah, Science!” know that I am, indeed, reading and attempting to comment (even if it’s telepathically).

Now, exciting news item #1: Someone I don’t know finally commented on my bump! It took nearly 7 months, but my god, it felt good — as soon as the waitress said, “How far along are you?”, I nearly jumped up and hugged her. Of course, it turned out that she is also expecting and therefore slightly more attuned to other women’s bellies, but I’ll take it. (OK, actually, I’m lying yet again — I did have one other person comment on my pregnancy about a month ago; it was a homeless guy in our local park who just pointed at me and yelled “PREGNANT!”… somewhat less endearing).

Exciting news item #2: I passed my glucose test! No idea what the results were, but it doesn’t really matter. And I must say, despite everyone’s warnings about the disgusting solution they make you guzzle, I kind of enjoyed it — the clinic keeps it extra-chilled and it tasted like a melty popsicle. Mmmm… glucose solution…

Exciting news item #3: Hubs and I just celebrated our third wedding anniversary. We’ve been ridiculously faithful in adhering to the rules about what gifts to give one another — first anniversary is paper; second anniversary is cotton; etc. — and your third anniversary is apparently leather. While I considered giving him the obvious gift (butt-less leather chaps), I instead played it safe with a new bike seat and a man-candle that smells of leather and cardamom. He got me some fruit leathers (I told him not to get me anything because he outdid himself last year). And we also treated ourselves to … drumroll please … a diaper bag! Actually, it’s just a regular bag that we will stuff diapers into, but I’ve been eyeing it for a while now because it accomplishes two things most diaper bags do not: 1. It’s gender-neutral, so hubby won’t feel like he’s carrying a giant purse; and 2. It transforms from a tote bag into a backpack in about one second. It’s made by this Swiss company called Qwstion; here’s a pretty picture:

Exciting news item #4: MY BOOBS MAKE LIQUID GOLD! I was sitting around the other day, picking at my nipples (as you do), pretty certain there was a tiny bit of weird yellow stuff lurking on ol’ lefty. Then I saw what appeared to be something wet on my finger. Then I did what any rational person does in this situation — I squeezed my boob, and watched in amazement as some gross snotty-looking stuff colostrum, aka LIQUID GOLD, came out. Huzzah! This can only bode well, right? Please tell me it bodes well.

Exciting news item #5: Obviously, we like to take the path less taken and avoid doing what everyone else does, even if they are being completely logical (see: excuse to buy a designer bag “diaper bag”), so we are doing something totally crazy when it comes to our birth plan. In fact, it’s so crazy that I’m a little hesitant to write about it here because I’m sure it’ll provoke horrible comments about me being a bad mother/pregnant lady. It’s a decision that I have yet to see another blogger ever make, so I understand it may be controversial, but here goes: We aren’t going to have a birth plan. (This is your time to holler profanities at the screen… I’ll just wait here for a sec.)

OK, so I know this sounds cavalier and makes it seem as if I don’t care about things like delayed cord-clamping and skin-to-skin contact and whether I want drugs or not and who’s allowed in the room with me and whatever else — that’s not true, I do care about these things. But having spoken with my OB this morning, it seems birth plans go according to plan maybe 1% of the time. Also, we’ll be at a hospital where it’s standard practice to put mother and baby’s health first, so stuff like skin-to-skin and delayed cord clamping are really a given unless something comes up that prevents this (like the baby needing resuscitation or if I start losing too much blood or whatever the case may be). Everything is explained to me at the time, so I won’t be given meds unnecessarily. To make a long story short, I trust my OB, I trust my hospital, and I am not one of those women who gets emotionally attached to labour — I want this kid out of me as quickly as possible without endangering either of us. I want to make decisions only when they need to be made, and I don’t want to try and anticipate every little thing that may or may not come up.

All right, let the criticism loose!

I’ve been the WORST blogger lately. Sorry. I’ve been lousy at both posting and commenting, and the reasons for this will hardly elicit any sympathy. They include such winners as, “Really busy with work,” “We’re away every weekend at the cottage,” and others I won’t even bother with. And because there’s nothing worse than following up a blogging absence with a disorganized series of bullet points, I am totally going to give you a thoughtful, Pulitzer Prize winning essay on — oh wait, nope, gonna hit you with bullets.

– BABY CAKES. I’m not having a baby shower (at least, not a shower in advance of the baby arriving — we’ll have a party once he’s here), and this really merits a whole separate post about how Judaic superstition and infertility PTSD totally go hand-in-hand, at least when it comes to not wanting to jinx things by celebrating too early. Anyway, one of things I may have to consider whenever we do choose to celebrate will be what food to consume, and for many folks, that food is cake. For some folks, that cake is shaped like a baby. Often, it looks like a baby is trying to escape through a hole, much like this:

But other times, it’s just a cake shaped like a full baby, which starts to get kind of creepy, especially when it looks like this:

But what I never really considered, until the geniuses behind Cake Wrecks called it to my attention, was that eventually someone at the baby shower will be expected to CUT such a cake, so people can eat it. And how, exactly, do you cut a baby? Let’s just say it gets really disturbing (like, REALLY):

Seriously, if any of you are ever considering getting a cake in the shape of a baby, this is your official warning. You cannot un-see a sliced baby face.

– CORD BLOOD. Don’t worry, this bullet won’t be as gross. Basically, I’m just curious how many of you chose to bank your baby’s cord blood versus toss it into the biohazard bin. Thoughts? I ask because we’ve decided to not bank it privately (too expensive, and the pediatricians and OBs I’ve spoken with say we shouldn’t bother), but I also didn’t want to waste potentially precious stem cells. So I started to look into donating it and turns out Canadian blood banks haven’t quite got their act together, so while some collection of donor cord blood is happening, it ain’t happening in Toronto. I got a tip-off that the Albertans were super on top of this — sure enough, they are, but they’re super snobby about which cities they’ll accept cord blood from, and surprise surprise, they really stick it to Toronto. So THEN, I found a small organization just north of the city that apparently will take it, but this requires a ton of paperwork and I have to somehow figure out how to ship it to them ASAP once the cord has been cut. “Um, hi, FedEx? Is there a protocol for shipping human blood? Can I get same-day delivery if I pay extra?” (Actually, it seems like maybe this isn’t so crazy, considering what happens if you Google “FedEx” and “Blood”):

– PINS AND NEEDLES. Last bullet, I promise. Have any of you PAIL-ers ever suffered from pins and needles in your hands? Is this a pregnancy thing? Because I’ve started to experience it in my left hand and it seems to be a sign of heart attack stroke early-onset Parkinsons either carpal tunnel syndrome or perhaps the result of an awkward sleeping position. I had a chiropractor friend of mine do some arm and shoulder adjustments, and she mentioned something called “thoracic outlet syndrome“, but the treatment seems to be a lot of stretching (bo-ring). Am I on my own here? Anyone? Bueller?

My fellow Toronto bloggers will already be WELL aware of this, but for those who don’t follow weather news, the latest is that my city just received more rain in two hours than it normally does in all of July. We’re talking 90 mm all at once, which led to insane flooding. And where do I happen to live? Oh, just near the lake and next to a buried creek, meaning my neighbourhood suffered some of the worst water damage. Basically EVERY house on my street now has a rolled-up wet carpet on their front lawn, waiting to be picked up by the city. “How bad was it?” you ask? Well, here are some photos to demonstrate:

And right across the street from our house, an enormous tree toppled over, landing right on the women’s shelter — not because of wind, or lightning, but because the root structure got soaked to the point of being unstable:

Anyway, the result of this insanity is that our basement was one of the many that flooded, both with rainwater (our downspout hasn’t been disconnected yet, so all the rain falling onto our roof goes through the eavestroughs and down into the pipe below our house) and sewage, because the city’s drains couldn’t keep up with the pace, meaning everything back-flowed into residential pipes. There was poop-flecked water basically erupting out of our bathtub, toilet and sink, and my hubby could not bail it out fast enough. We were using huge garbage bins and buckets to bail, towels, the shower curtain and even a leftover bag of grout to try and build a dam, to at least contain it in the bathroom, and then hubs went outside to literally rip off the downspout with his hands and plug the hole with a pop bottle. In short, we tried EVERYTHING — and it still wound up pouring over into the main basement area, soaking the carpet.

It was a total shit show.

“Why didn’t you get a wet vac to suck up all the water?” you ask? Oh, we did. I bolted out the door to Walmart and spent $50 on the last one they had; got home, and then the power went out, so we couldn’t plug it in. It stayed out for the next few hours.

Did I mention that my husband also had to pack and leave for the airport about two hours after this whole ordeal began? Yep.

So anyway, he attempted to semi-clean the mess downstairs, but because the water was contaminated, he was adamant that I not go down there. Long story short: The entire house stinks, and we’ve now got a plumbing company digging up our front yard and our entire basement floor in order to install brand new pipes and a back-flow valve (to prevent sewage water from going in the reverse direction, even during heavy rain), all to the tune of almost $10,000. Because we really had that money kicking around, doing nothing (read: thank the lord for credit cards). Plus I’m more or less trapped in my house because the stairs leading up to our front door have been removed and there’s no access to the street from our backyard unless I want to scale a tall fence. Woohoo!

Want photographic evidence? This is where our front steps should be; in their place is currently a very sunburnt man in an 8-foot hole (I have offered sunscreen; he declined):

—— DEEP BREATH / EXHALE ——

In other news, I’m around 25 weeks now (about 6 months); I’ve posted another photo to my Bump Pics page, but to be honest, it’s really no different than the previous one — the main difference is actually my bathroom, if you feel like checking that out awesomeness again. I also decided that my coping strategy in the midst of all this plumbing insanity would be retail therapy, so ended up stroller shopping with my mom (I think we’re going to try and source a good-as-new-but-a-lot-cheaper Bugaboo Cameleon from Craigslist or Kijiji), and she also bought me a baby carrier (decided to go with the Beco Gemini because it was the most comfy to wear and very simple and streamlined; the Ergo ones seem really bulky and I think you can’t wear them on your back or something, and the Baby Bjorn ones in the store had a lot of straps and fussy accessories, and the saleswoman said something about more susceptibility to back aches with those. And slings? I’m a hippie in a lot of ways, but I just don’t think I’m a sling girl… we’ll see). Then my friend and I escaped to IKEA, where I succumbed to a Poang rocking chair. My hubby wasn’t initially on board because, in his words, “A Poang is so obviously a Poang,” but they really are the cheapest and most comfy rocking chairs EVER. Aaaaand, they now make BABY POANGS FOR YOUR BABY SO YOU CAN HAVE MATCHING CHAIRS!!!

The one we got is this guy:

It’s a bit crazy looking, I know, but understand that we’re trying to create a nursery from an office that’s already been decorated as an ironic 1960s cabin, complete with starburst clock, paint-by-numbers on the wall and deer wallpaper. It’s kind of kitschy on purpose — and we’re frankly too broke to do a complete overhaul with pastel colour scheme or whatever. So baby gets a “vintage woodland” theme, as I like to call it.

A funny thing has happened since I went from two years in the infertility trenches to suddenly being pregnant with an IVF baby that appears to be sticking around (what what, viability!). Some women I know in real life have either started walking down the path of Femara and IUIs and all that jazz or are considering doing so after months of trying naturally has failed, and have asked my advice on what to do. My instinct is to strap on my Superinfertilitysurvivorwoman cape and leap into action, blabbering on about everything we endured, what was scary, what was awesome, what was bizarre, and then telling them what they should and shouldn’t do in their journey toward babymaking with lab coats.

In a way, it’s not that different from the “commenter mode” I slip into when visiting all of your lovely blogs; inevitably, we all end up needing support or guidance or X-ray vision to interpret potential second lines on pee sticks or just reassuring anecdotes, and we look to fellow bloggers to help a girl out. And this is a good thing… I think.

But part of me has started to feel like I sometimes veer from offering helpful advice into just bossing people around. My own experience with infertility is just ONE experience, and yet it’s led to me having fairly strong opinions on, for instance, how many IUIs a couple should do before moving on to IVF, what drugs are worth taking, which ones have side effects, whether acupuncture or Chinese medicine really work, and so forth. And every now and then, I’m reminded that, actually, I have no idea what the eff I’m talking about. OK fine, maybe I have 2% credibility, but still. So I’m trying to figure out how to best help both IRL friends and fellow bloggers without coming across as a smug “success story” or a bossypants. I suppose I could just preface everything with, “Well, in my own experience…” but then it just looks like I’m bringing everything back to ME, which is not so hot either. Hence… maybe it’s best to just keep my mouth shut completely, or be more generically supportive, à la Hallmark cards with messages like, “Keep up the great work! (insert picture of kitten wearing glasses and holding a pencil)”

On the other hand, I look back to the state of mind I was in when I first sought medical help for all this, and how fortunate I felt to get some advice from a friend who’d been through fertility treatments (and had given birth to a healthy baby boy). I think what made her advice so helpful was the fact that she always asked how WE were doing first, and then gave me plenty of opportunity to vent my frustrations, and then made me feel better by sharing the more frustrating moments of her journey — which made for a nice reminder that I wasn’t alone and that, hopefully, I too would have a happy ending. What she didn’t do was say “You should take this” or “You shouldn’t do this” or whatever.

So maybe that’s the key. Any of you guys have advice on how to give advice?

What’s that you say? Someone got her Cystic Fibrosis test results back and they were negatory? And someone also had another scan that showed “no trace” of echogenic bowel? I think we all know what this calls for… that’s right… some of this:

And a bit of this:

And just for good measure, perhaps a little pinch of this:

Of course, because my ultrasound peeps just LOVE to find stuff wrong with fetuses, they mentioned that my amniotic fluid was “on the low side of normal”, so that’ll be checked again in 4 weeks. But for whatever reason, I’m just not that concerned about this — my plan is to drink obscene amounts of water for the next month and cut back on the (already minor) doses of caffeine each morning. If you have hot tips on encouraging fluid retention, do share! And if not, then join me in deleting the Cystic Fibrosis bookmark from my Internet browser and doing plenty of happy dances today. :)

I had my second pregnancy-themed nightmare last night (OK, I know, DREAMS ARE NOT INTERESTING TO OTHER PEOPLE, but just bear with me for a moment). I dreamed that I was in a hospital and was diagnosed with a brain tumor and the doctors couldn’t do anything about it. They cut my head open and tried to perform surgery but it didn’t work. And then they said I only had a few days left to live, and because the baby hadn’t yet reached viability, it would have to simply die with me.

Gee, THANKS SUBCONSCIOUS! Way to come up with the most insanely depressing situation anyone could possibly suffer. Typing this out, I realize it’s so ludicrous that such a thing would happen — not just to me, to anyone — but waking up from that in the middle of the night was so damn terrifying, it took me hours to get back to sleep.

I think this is a reflection of a) the fact that I’ve become way more emotionally attached to this fetus than I like to admit, either to myself or others; and b) the fact that I just listened to an hour-long Radiolab podcast called “23 weeks 6 days” about a woman who delivered a baby one day shy of viability and the horrors she endured waiting to see if it would survive; and c) the fact that, despite odds being in our favour, I am completely petrified that our baby has Cystic Fibrosis. I’ve actually researched this disease extensively now — that’s how sure I am that our tests are going to come back positive. But weirdly, I kind of woke up from this nightmare thinking, “I would GLADLY take a child with Cystic Fibrosis over a terminal illness that kills both of us right now.”

The other reason I’m so convinced we’ll get bad news is that I feel like I’ve been too lucky in life — yes, I’ve dealt with a couple years of infertility and the stress of IVF and an ectopic; yes, I’ve also dealt with my mother battling cancer twice and nearly succumbing to it. But fortune has almost always been on my side, and I’m due for it to run out. I look at all these people around me who’ve had major tests in life, whether it’s a close family member dying or abusive/estranged relatives or late-term baby loss or whatever, and I keep wondering: When is my Big Test going to happen? Everyone has to endure at least one Big Test in life that really pushes them to the edge, and I’m sure mine is coming. So is it going to be a problem with my child? I just wish I knew already…

——— OK, end major downer of a post ———

On a lighter note, can we talk about the fact that we haven’t signed up for daycare, or found a pediatrician, or drafted a will, don’t yet have a crib, baby carrier, stroller or any other “essentials”, but I am *thisclose* to purchasing a teenie tiny coffee maker:

HOW ADORBS IS THIS? And such great training for when the kid finally learns that he will never get what he wants unless mummy is caffeinated first.

Our bathroom reno was so successful, I think it’s best if we all start referring to this beauty as a restroom from now on. Sadly, I don’t have any decent “before” photos, but here’s a description of what it was like just a few weeks ago: Blue walls, shallow tub, blah shower fixtures, an uneven floor comprised of beige square tiles with gross blackish grout, a window with three different components to it wherein only the bottom right-hand square slid open, a flimsy storage cupboard with horizontal slats… Oh, screw it. Let’s make up some before photos, shall we? OK, try picturing something as fugly as this:

Or maybe even this:

Now, are you ready? Like, ready for the heavens to open up? And a chorus of bathroom angels to start singing? Here it comes…

ET VOILA!
This, dear friends, is The Restroom:

Some of my fave details: The rainwater showerhead, the deep-as-all-heck tub made for 6-foot-tall people like us, the little alcove for our shampoo bottles (yes, I’ve poured all our shampoo into fancy Gluckstein dispensers), the vintage-esque floor, the little knobs on the cupboard from Anthropologie that are shaped like old clock faces, and of course Krummi — the hanging raven, which I got in Iceland. Every single house we stayed at while in Iceland had at least one Krummi, so it’s a nice reminder of our babymoon.

Best of all, when we have a shower, it will no longer leak down into our living room (which was really why we did this reno in the first place).

Um, that’s all I got. No fertility-related news today… just hoping I won’t receive a phone call from the OB’s office saying my baby has Cystic Fibrosis… so, you know, the usual. :)

OK, so here’s the latest bump pic (AND YOUR WARNING IF YOU HATE BUMP PICS THAT ONE IS COMING YOUR WAY), which now that I look at it is pretty damn huge, in comparison to the 16-week shot. You will also notice that my bathroom looks completely different (it’s not 100% done, but mostly) and my bangs have vanished (worst growing-out phase ever) and the photo itself is actually pretty grainy/blurry because I didn’t realize my mirror was all dusty. Anyway, this is where we’re at:

I can most definitely feel the dude kicking and swirling around, which is a weird sensation — it feels like my stomach is one of those spinning ball cages you see at bingo games, with the occasional ball really making its presence known. Like, “WHOA, calm down B6!”

As I may have mentioned, our hospital is a huge research centre and so every pregnant woman who walks in the door gets bombarded with various requests to participate in studies. I’ve already agreed to one study on bacterial vaginosis (didn’t end up happening because I tested negative), another study on whether online resources can improve one’s knowledge/perception of C-sections, and a third study on placenta health, where you agree to one extra scan at Week 20 and hand the thing over post-delivery in exchange for a bajillion ultrasound photos of your babe. So this is what I just did on Monday and, I have to say, the 3D images kind of creeped me out. They’re super lumpy and make the baby look like a jaundiced old man with lots of raised liver spots or something. The tech kept saying, “Look how cute he is!” and I kept replying, “Can we go back to the 2D version now??” Anyway, here’s the latest 2D image:

My mom said he looks like a Simpsons character, and I kind of have to agree… there’s some major overbite action there. But I’m also pretty sure it’s a weird angle and, as my friends have already scolded me, he’s only halfway through growing… you can’t criticize a painting when the artist isn’t finished yet (well, actually, I totally can — and also, I’m allowed to poke fun at my kid, especially when he can’t hear me yet.)

OK, but the craziest part is, the tech filled a USB key with images as well as video footage, in 3D with the corresponding 2D image in split-screen. Totally makes up for the $15 we had to pay for one lousy JPG during our 12-week ultrasound. Sadly, I can’t upload the video, but I swear it’s some crazy CCTV spy-cam action. Here’s a screen grab:

Nuts, eh? If this is what ultrasound technology is like now, I can’t imagine how much more sophisticated it’ll be 20, 50 years down the road. Full colour? High-res? Director commentary? The possibilities are endless…