Chronicles of Alien Development — Week 18
If you count pregnancy progression by fruits and vegetables, according to The Bump, at 18 weeks the monkey alien is the size of an artichoke. It’s somewhat challenging to bond with the mental image of a thorny thistle inside your belly. I mean, I get the size comparison and all, but an artichoke??
Fortunately, using the unpredictable nature of my husband’s schedule as an excuse, I corralled my OB in to booking our anatomy scan a week or two early. While additional scans were unwarranted, seven weeks feels like a long interval without having firsthand knowledge of what’s going on in there. Having not felt him or her move yet, I was admittedly anxious as to what we would find.
After a morning swim, a solid breakfast, a cup of coffee (8 oz, I swear!), and some hastily downed water to counteract all that, we headed in for our scan. Our sonographer, a delightful young woman, was the perfect balance of enthusiastic and calm as we mouth vomited everything that has happened (not that much) between our last ultrasound and this one. With a feel for the type of couple we are (endearingly neurotic), she prepared to start the scan. That transducer landed below my belly button, and HELLO BABY!
Who knew that much could be happening inside my abdomen without my knowledge?!? That kid flipped and flapped and waved and kicked and belly flopped throughout the entire exam. Of course, he or she is stunningly photogenic, allowing for exceptional views of all its 10,000 parts despite the early gestational age. The sonographer commented regularly on how “busy” he or she was, a thought that makes me want to invest in a mild sedative deliverable via tranquilizer dart. Do they sell those on Amazon?
To put it mildly (and not at all humbly), I’ve never been so proud in my life.
Proud of myself for nurturing a strong swimming pool for this future Olympian.
Proud of my husband for his desire to be an intimately involved father at every stage of this game.
Proud of my son or daughter who has somehow developed an energetic spirit even while still inside me.
The coup de gras, though. The moment I became certain the wall between our world and theirs is merely skin. We played Bob Marley for the monkey alien. And holy shit, that kid went still. Like immediately.
AND THEN IT HEAD BOBBED!! Only twice, but even the sonographer saw it, and she’s not paid enough to lie to me.
The second we took Bob away…off that baby went again. Rolling, wiggling, flipping. And that is that. We have created a Rastafarian.
We blew up group text with our pictures. I changed my Facebook profile to the kiddo’s monkey toes. And everyone and anyone now knows any mobile we get better be able to download “I Shot the Sheriff.” But the most profound thing I took from this ultrasound, the thing that keeps slamming in to me, the thing I never considered, is that he or she is already who he or she is going to be. The Rastafarian already has a personality; it is hard wired in there and it is already manifesting itself.
Wow.
Imagine if we knew that about ourselves. Imagine if we understood that from mere months following conception, we already had likes and dislikes, already were movers and shakers or sitters and thinkers, already tended towards compliance or defiance. Our alien has had no outside influence, no “life lesson”, no opportunity for my husband and I to fuck it up. Who he or she is right this moment is all him. Or her.
I want to pause button that. I want to remember who my son or daughter was at the very beginning…strong…clear…cheeky…”busy”…unarguably cool.
When he or she forgets, as we inevitably do, how to find them self in the world, I want to be the reminder of who they started out as. A beacon to the beginning that will hopefully help them work their way to the now. I want them to know that when the world thinks they are too much, or not enough, there was a time when all they were was absolutely, stunningly perfect.
It’s a pleasure to meet you, my little Rastafarian. Thank you for sharing yourself with your parents. We’re prepping the Bob Marley lullaby playlist for your arrival. One love, baby G, one love.
