Some long-awaited news.
After an exhaustive sonogram session—one that produced the lovely picture many of you saw earlier this week—doctors have concluded that BGV has no markers for hypertrophic cardiomyopathy they can detect. To quote the perinatologist, “We can find nothing wrong with this baby.”
[AUDIBLE EXHALE]
She’ll still need to see a pediatric cardiologist once she’s here to make absolutely sure. We have, however, been given permission to be officially relieved.
On the breech front, we have no change. BGV still seems to be having good fun poking Mommy’s diaphragm with her head. On the plus side has been the leveling-off of Baby Momma’s amniotic fluid to the point that she is no longer polyhydramniotic. (Become a father! Grow your vocabulary!) She had been carrying two extra liters of baby Mountain Dew around with her.
(This is as good a time as any to mention that I wish we had picked a better nom de guerre for Baby Momma. It makes for a very unfortunate acronym.)
Unfortunately, my wifely trooper is still dealing all the attendant pain and discomfort you would expect, including a particular sensation she has dubbed “Knife Crotch,” which sounds to me like a great name for an all-girl punk band. Perhaps they could be America’s answer to Russia’s Pussy Riot.
