I feel like I should be more thrilled with the ultrasound, but the anxiety I had going into it dialed me way back to start with. And it wasn’t the what if something’s wrong with her beyond the subconscious anxiety I get every time, but worrying about if it would be worth the money, worrying about my mother-in-law having problems accessing the web feed, worrying about the baby being in the wrong position. I don’t know, it just feels like when I anticipate something big I end up an emotional mess rather than just enjoying it.

True to form, our little girl was obstinate and buried. So most of the time was spent with the tech working hard to try to get any kind of half-decent picture of her. There was a lot of blurry placenta fuzz – which she had her face and hands snuggled up to. She was awake and moving, just not moving away from that position. The tech did say she tends to see a lot more anterior placentas, and it does typically make getting pictures harder. I ended up laying on my left side, which I’m sure made things fun for the tech (who was on my right side, reaching over), but it did actually shift things enough to get some pictures. It was disappointing, in a lot of ways, because I wanted to see… more. More than a lot of fuzz and some peekaboo pictures.

I think the biggest part of this experience wasn’t just getting a couple of pictures of the baby, but the inclusion of the grandparents. My parents attended the session and watched on the big screen TV, and Den’s mom logged in to the live webcast they provided for family members. None of them have actually seen a live ultrasound before, they’ve only seen the 2D pictures that we show them after the fact. I know they all really appreciated getting the chance to experience this with us. This baby is celebrated by her entire extended family and is just so anxiously awaited.

But there she was on screen, obstinate or not, wiggling her fingers and kicking her feet. Our little girl, our baby. I did get misty eyes watching. When we got home I sat and stared at the best picture we have of her. I love it. The more I look at it, the more I love the picture. I can’t wait to meet her and see her little face in person.

Here’s a couple of the pictures… I’ll post these and some more on the ultrasound page (but not all of them, because most of them are fuzzy!). We do have a DVD of the video, but I don’t have access to any editing software right now so I’ll have to work on that later.

Tomorrow is my 4D ultrasound. We decided to spend a bit to get it done this time, even though with Devin we skipped it because we’d “see him soon enough.” My doctor’s office does have 3D capability, but only as “snapshots” (and so far that was not at all a success) – this time it’s the real deal, full 3D video. And the ultrasound is not at all a medical one, so we don’t have to worry about measurements and growth and why are they looking at that again? I’ll be so happy to just lay back and watch her.

To prepare I have been trying to drink some extra water today, like they suggested (for a clearer picture, they said). But my biggest concern is simply making sure she’s kicking so that I know that she’s alive when I walk in there. I guess that kind of sets me apart from the “normal” pregnant women.

I’m also a little nervous about her being in the right position, given that we’re spending money on this and can’t do a re-do later (we are on vacation). Please be face-up and waving, baby girl. We want to see your face!

We were in a store looking at Olympics gear memorabilia. Den spotted the rack of Canada baby onesies. “This is cute!” he said. “I’m surprized you haven’t already bought one!”

I looked over at the rack and pointed to the size tag. The smallest things were 18M. “She wouldn’t fit into them for like two years.” We both stopped at the rack holding miniature-sized Canada hockey jerseys to match the one I had already bought for Denis. It was in size 24M. “Now if Devin were here, I’d totally get it, this would fit him.”

There was that moment of silence between us – only a split-second, but there. I really can’t picture Devin older, fitting into a toddler jersey. But at the same time there’s a shadow that follows us around. In that moment we both saw it.

As a very astute reader noted, I am now down to double-digits: less than 100 days until my due date. For some reason this doesn’t feel too significant to me, but it did make me say, “Wow.”

But next week, next week is the big one: next week starts my third trimester. And that blows me away. Yes, actually this has been going by quickly for me. After 14 weeks when I started being able to enjoy it rather than just fret about everything – and especially once she started moving consistently – suddenly this pregnancy is moving smoothly from week to week and I’m not quite sure how I’ve gotten here.

Second trimester has been kind to me. Yes, the damn heartburn (again, a bad bad name: I have no issues in my chest, just a gross burning in my throat), but honestly that’s more of an irritation than anything; I feel it frequently, and once in a while it’ll keep me awake, but it’s not really impeding anything. The leg cramps are certainly painful, but I’ve learned ways to manage them, prevent them, and this past week have been for the most part cramp-free. But the rest? The rest is great. I feel good. I feel less achy now than I did in the beginning of this pregnancy. My hips don’t hurt. I only waddle when she’s on my bladder. I haven’t gained much weight. My boobs are full without being huge, and aren’t tender or painful. I have an adorable baby belly. It’s like I have enough symptoms and discomforts to feel definitely pregnant, but without anything really being a problem. It’s a lovely place to be, this second trimester.

I know it’s going to get harder from here on out… emotionally as well as physically. Right now I’m just riding in a very comfortable space, but am aware the the anxiety can come back at any time. Plus I know things are going to get harder on my body as I get closer to my due date. But it’s all good. I’ll just enjoy this part while I can.

I mentioned in twitter that I start to speak more “Canadian” when I am home. Once upon a time I didn’t think we had an accent, but the longer I live away (and the more my husband snickers at me) the more I do hear it. My family speaks with a much more clipped, precise pronunciation than I am used to in MA. (And before you ask – no, we do not live near Boston, so I am talking about the typical north-east accent, not the highly foreign Boston accent!) It makes me smile to hear everyone talk “normally.”

Realize and paralyze are spelled with Z, not S.

And it’s ZED, not ZEE.

Travelled has two Ls. Which I didn’t realize is actually Canadian – I have been getting confused for the last 5 years because my spell-checkers keep correcting me, but I KNEW it looked right to me!

Words like mobile, fragile are pronounced MO-bile, not MO-ble. (The “i” sound is very present.)

Vase sounds like “vayse,” not “vahs.”

Again and Against sound like “gain,” not “gen.”

Decal is prounced “Deckle,” not “DEE-cal.” (Say this one out loud to an American and they have NO IDEA what you are talking about.)

We call it Grade One, Grade Two. (Not First Grade, etc.)

We commonly call it a chesterfield, as well as a couch.

Washroom is the formal term for a bathroom. (I said this once in a public place in MA when I was searching, and the woman said, “A what??”)

My winter hat is a touque.

… And I could go on. I just like to sit and listen to people talk, it makes me smile!

Things I love about being in Canada:

The comfort of familiarity. The house is pretty much how I remember it. Dad’s train room even smells the same. So many memories.

Food I can only get here. Corn Pops, Coffee Crisp, Aero, Nibs. (I realize you can buy Corn Pops in the US – but it is NOT the same stuff, just trust me.) I am eating far too much junk, just because I can.

Being able to watch the Olympics on three channels simultaneously (each one showing something different). And with Canadian commentators, focusing on the Canadian athletes.

Seeing my 14.5 year old dog… even if she’s aged a lot in the last year and she’s no longer my dog. (She is glued to my dad’s side.)

Things I dislike about being in Canada:

Being 3 hours behind the east coast. For example, it is 1am, and there is no one online to amuse me.

Typing in a website for a store and then realizing, wait, that’s the US version. I have to go to the [crappy, less informative] .ca version for the correct info.

Not having digital cable with DVR. I keep yelling, “How do you live without an ‘info’ button?! I want to know what show this is!” My mom tells me to look it up in TV Week. That is so lame.

An uncomfortable, small bed. Did I ever think this thing was comfortable? Really? (Thankfully my mom bought a foam topper to put on it, so it’s tolerable.)

::

Earlier today there was a period when I wasn’t feeling any kicks – but I was feeling sharp little pains in my left pelvis and ovary. Hmmm, said I, I bet she has her feet down in my pelvis. 15 minutes later I started feeling kicks in my lower left belly quadrant. Apparently she had moved just enough to change the angle of attack – and to start kicking me where I could feel it from the outside, rather than in the ovaries. Ah ha!

Baby girl is still having very active nights. I am propped up in bed with pillows, and she is having a huge party in there, my belly is literally bouncing around. Oh how I love this part of pregnancy! I do not remember ever being kept awake by Devin, however.

I’m not even a hockey fan – not a sports fan at all, really. But when you get an opportunity, you take it. And I’ll say, it sure is different seeing it in person – much more exciting and interesting.

Go Canada!

(Women’s Ice Hockey, Canada vs. Slovakia. Final score 18-0.)

At some age after babyhood I liked to sleep in. I think that age was roughly 4 years old. This continued into my teenage years, when my mother would frequently threaten (and sometimes follow through) to throw a cup of cold water on me if I didn’t get out of bed in the next ten seconds. And my dad would tell me, “Wait til you grow up and get a job. Then you won’t be able to sleep in and you’ll start going to bed at a normal hour!”

The sign of a true night owl: after travelling to a timezone 3 hours behind your own you’re STILL be the last awake at midnight and sleeping until 10am. My parents say, “Ummm, shouldn’t you be falling asleep earlier and awake at some crazy morning hour?” Nope, not me.

And apparently not my daughter, either. She is getting ever stronger, and is starting to keep me up at night unless I’m really tired – depending on how she is facing. But then again, other than a few “nap times” during the day when she’s consistently quiet, I’m not really sure when she sleeps… it feels like she’s always kicking me! (Which is a wonderful thing, especially first thing in the morning. When I wake up all I have to do is roll over and then think in my head, “Baabbyyyy. Wake up!” and I immediately get little taps in response.) For example, it is currently 1am local time (4am “normal” time) and she is apparently throwing a party in there. I’m wondering just how many friends she’s invited.

A busy day tomorrow, so perhaps I should try to get some sleep. Even if the little belly-monster doesn’t want to.

I woke up this morning feeling a little bit… off. I thought to myself, jeez, I thought this nausea thing was past? I do still get some nausea in the mornings, but it goes away when I get some food settled in my stomach. So I ate some toast, drank some water. And promptly threw everything. back. up. Violently.

I nibbled a tiny bit after that, but my stomach was feeling worse, not better. A couple hours later I threw up again, but this time there wasn’t anything in my stomach.

And so it has gone all day long. My stomach hurts, literally. I have this oogy, rumbly, unpleasantly-turning-over kind of feeling in my stomach. I took a few hour nap, but soon as I got up, same thing as the morning. I really feel like crying a little bit in frustration – I have things to do, people to see, and I’m stuck in bed feeling miserable as hell. I get to see my parents once a year, and I’m totally out of commission today.

Far as I can tell this is just one of those stomach bugs, probably picked up during my flights two days ago. I am really hoping it’s just a 24-hour thing so I can get back to normal. My worry however is that today I haven’t even kept down water, which means tomorrow if I still can’t keep down water I’m going to end up in the hospital to get fluids – and that would really piss me off.

Son of a bitch.

Update: Next morning is here and I’m feeling bounds better. So far I’ve kept up the little that I’ve been brave enough to nibble on, and the gatorade and water. So it definitely seems to have been some kind of 24 hour bug.

I know when I need a vacation, but I never really know quite how much until I get there – when all the packing, planning and travel is over and I look up and realize, I am on vacation! I don’t have to go to work. I don’t have to do anything. It. Feels. Fucking. Wonderful.

There is also an added value to going home. Home. I don’t use that term lightly, in this context. Coming home means returning to my country, coming home to my family, and even coming home to the house I grew up in. I feel warm and safe and mellow here. Like I’ve stepped out of my life for a little while, just put it on hold while I take a breather, a refresher. I feel comforted by the Canadian flags, the familiar streets, the presence of family. Even something as simple as the way someone pronounces a word makes me smile.

And then today I joined a bunch of happy, excited Canadians waving flags and wearing red, gathered to see this:

Yes, the Olympic torch. And I thought to myself, damn, this is so freaking cool that I get to be here to experience this in my hometown.