Things are motoring along nicely here in New Orleans. This morning we're renting a car and heading to the Musicians' Village to drop off the gear that I was able to purchase with the proceeds of my photography exhibit in February. Between that, The Robeau's time in the recording studio on Thursday night and all the other fun stuff we've been doing (eggs benny poor boy!) it's easy to forget that this trip is also sort of a "babymoon". In fact, today marks the 20th week of my pregnancy. HOW one EARTH did THAT happen? You know what that means. We're already halfway there! Or...we're only halfway there...depending on which day (or hour, or minute) you ask me.
The second trimester really is all it's cracked up to be. Granted, I get tired more easily and when I need to eat, I NEED TO EAT. I'm not even going to mention the constant peeing. Oh, look at that, I mentioned the constant peeing. It's hard not to mention it when it's constant. Ask me about the best public restrooms in New Orleans sometime. I'll hook you up. Right now my biggest grievance is that my already suspect sense of balance has completely disappeared. My centre of gravity is all out of whack and as a result my equilibrium is shot. Which is, for lack of a better word, disorienting. Excuse me while I clutch that wall or lunge at your shoulder for support.
The Friday before we left on our trip we had our second ultrasound. It was at a different facility than the first one which meant a different technician and different rules. Remember how I mentioned that I had to pee constantly? Well, these nice people insisted that I drink enough water to fill my tiny, crowded bladder AN HOUR BEFORE my appointment and HOLD IT until half way through the ultrasound at which point I'd be allowed to empty out two cups. In fact, here's a paper cup. Fill it up twice and stop peeing, come back to the table and let me poke you in the abdomen some more. Sound good? Are you crying? Are your tears yellow?
I know the uncomfortable full bladdered pregnant lady is a tale as old as time, but it's 2010! Hasn't the technology improved? I didn't have to do this at the 12 week ultrasound. I'm not ready to admit that it has to be this way.
Turns out we weren't able to get any really good pics or find out the gender as Art Vandalay spent the whole hour we were there covering up his or her privates with his or her gangly arms. This is the best we could do. Be glad it's labeled.
In fact, it's such a poor likeness, please enjoy this Life Magazine cover from the mid 60's featuring an 18 week old fetus. There ya go. There's a kid that was ready for their close up.
So far, my mental state has been hanging in there although I am beginning to have moments where I worry that we won't have everything ready (hints of nesting?) and moments where I feel incredibly, incredibly anxious. Then I realize that no, I wasn't anxious at all, it was just gas.