The Ultrasound through Daddy's eyes

So, we finally had an ultrasound scheduled to see Baby Voltron. (Um, hell-to-the-no. We will not be naming that child Voltron). As you can tell, the roles have reversed: I, Weaver, will be the one telling the story while Crystal will try to keep up. (Ass) The excitement is soon overcome by the reality of having to sit in a waiting room with a moody pregnant woman. That being said, they are nice enough to have a beautiful 300 gallon salt water aquarium stocked with fish and exotic coral. At least now I know where my money’s going. (They better have something for us to look at if they were going to make us sit there for a whole freaking hour. I still think they ought to give you those little coaster pagers like they do at restaurants and just beep you when they have a half-table ready. I told Weaver that they could totally capitalize on that by luring us through their gift shops to buy overly-priced walkers and home enema kits.) An hour (and a half) later, it was time for me to see my child for the first time (our child… like you are really the only one doing anything around here). Let me rephrase that…So it’s time for us to see Baby Voltron for the first time (ass…I hope you really do know that name is NEVER going to happen). We’ll see…especially whenever you’re drugged up on that table. (Moving along)

Once again, we are taken down a long dark hallway and asked to pee in a cup (I didn’t have to pee in a cup this time…just a regular bladder release so she could see the baby better). I just peed for fun. Upon entering the examination/ media room, we are greeted by our old friends: half-table and paper sheet. (I actually got a real sheet this time. Ain’t that some sheet? Ha) I sat down in front of a flat screen that was bigger than any I have ever owned (I also had my own flat screen, so I didn’t have to turn my head and strain my neck. Fancy) Thinking to myself that this was not going to be this bad, I soon realized this was no Super Bowl. (What the hell did you have to go through? I was the only one laying on a effing half table with cold goop all over my belly.) First, I watched Dahlia (the ultrasound technician) ask my beautiful Crystal to take off her negligee (she asked me to pull up my dress so she could have access to my belly), then she lovingly wrapped her in sheets of the finest linen (she let me cover up my fat preggo ass so I wouldn’t get cold), then for the climax, she began to slowly rub jelly all over my woman (it was the goop they put on your stomach for an ultrasound. You are so sick, Weaver. How can any of this possibly be sexy to you? I weigh 900 pounds and Dahlia is close to 60 years old.) 900 pounds of Sexy Mama and Dahlia is 29 when she is rubbing you with her love oil. (Once again…moving along.)

Dahlia did not remain my 2nd favorite lady for much longer. (We’ll get to that…tell them about seeing the baby first). Ok. She starts to move the thingy-ma-jigger (I also do not know what it is technically called…we will go with thingy-ma-jigger) around on the belly. Finally, Baby Voltron’s big screen debut, resembling any alien on the X-Files. (We are not naming the baby Scully or Molder either). Dahlia begins to point out key parts of interest on the baby, “Notice the thin skin on the back of baby’s neck and the already forming nasal plate…this is a good sign that the baby probably is not at risk for Down’s syndrome.” My key point of interest is “Oh my God, look at that…we’re having a boy!” To which Dahlia replies, “Um…that is just a leg. We won’t be able to tell the sex of the baby for 6 more weeks”. (Stay tuned…August 18th) She starts to label the legs and the arms. By the way, this is not a good time to ask the nurse if she can type the name Voltron over the baby’s head on the ultrasound picture. (Here we go again. I cannot take this guy anywhere.) This is the point when Crystal and I became monogamous again, because I broke up with Dahlia real quick. (I hope the readers know you are joking about this “You and Dahlia” relationship) I knew that was coming. Anyway, Dahlia decides that the baby needs to be in a different position (she had to take some kind of measurement that was important in determining the baby’s health risks). Regardless of that, now let me tell you how you reposition a baby. If I laid hands on my woman like that, I would go straight to jail. Then, Mr. Jez (that’s my daddy) would be paying me a visit and it wouldn’t be work related. In what looked like a serial killer with a knife, she repeatedly thrusts down and inward to the belly with her thingy-ma-jigger, (I still can’t recall its scientific terminology), tossing Baby Voltron wildly like a sailor on the open seas. (She was merely repositioning the baby by creating a gentle wave in the amniotic fluid). Gentle, my ass…we should name the baby Jonah. (Can I get that in writing? Anything is better than Voltron. All that aside, I could tell Weaver was pissed at Dahlia and was very proud of him for not jumping over the half-table to head-butt her.) And this is where the second half of my money goes: Enter Dr. Goodrum. “Nice to meet you, I’m Dr. Goodrum. Your baby looks great. We will see you again in 6 weeks. Goodbye”. Now, I’m not saying I’m a genius, but for $10,000, she better display a little more intelligence than that. (Seriously lady, give me a little something more.)

It is reassuring to know that there is only one Baby Voltron. (We are not having twins…whew!) And if it turns out anything like its father, the world will be a much better place. And more beautiful (I think I have to go throw up now).