Sunshine Again.

“She’s turned!” Her eyes are alive and alight.

“She did it on Sunday afternoon. Then she turned back and yesterday she turned again and hasn’t moved since.”

And indeed, Schmoo’s mummy-tummy is looking a lot more comfortable. Instead of a hard, high mound beneath her breasts, there is a gentle sloping bulge that falls gracefully away. We are both relieved at the change and although it is still early days, if thirty-four weeks gestation can be described as early, this is the first sign that the baby is getting ready to be born head first.
Today is scan day. I’ve been invited, partly as support person and partly because I’m the grandmother-to-be. We are usshered swiftly into the small, darkened room by a technican as stick-slender as Scmoo is rounded.
On with the goop and there she is, the wee moko, curled and tucked close under her Mum’s heart. The image is grey and a little grainy. It’s kind of hard to see what you are supposed to be seeing. I stare hard at the monitor.

“There’s the skull,” says the technican as she measures. “Size at the top of the range. That’s good..” She slides the scanner. “And there’s the heart. Good and steady.” And indeed, there it is, its little auicles and ventricles pumping away, opening and closing silently and rhythmically like odd little mouths.
“And here’s a thigh,” she says again, “a little shorter than standard.”
“Short? Did you say she’s got short legs?” snaps the daughter, truly her mother’s child.
“No, no, not short as in short. She’s still well within the normal range.”

Eventually she removes the scanner. She hands over a rumpled bundle of paper towels.
“The results will be through in a few moments,” she says “Just sit in the waiting room.”

In all honesty, scans make me feel a little uneasy. I am not wussy in this way in general. I don’t swoon at the sight of blood. Seeing (minor) bits of human separated from the main body doesn’t make me scream or throw up. I can kill, skin and gut an animal if there is a need to do so. Flyblown sheep are my friends. But this stuff disturbs me somewhat. Maybe it’s the sight of all that stuff that should never be seen, all that mysterious inner world. I don’t know. But a good bowl of organs would do me anyday, whereas this…

Soon, the pictures are ready. We go outside and stand in the weak winter sunlight, holding them up and peering closely.
“Short thighs, eh?” I mutter. “Well, she’s her grandmothers grandchild then, isn’t she.” We giggle together. And it’s true. My Father’s side has bestowed a genetic marvel on the females of the family in that we are almost universally direct inverses of Barbie. Piano legs are the rule. Even though I’m only a little over average height, if my legs were directly proportional to my body, I’d be around five feet ten. But I’m tall when I’m sitting down and that will have to do.

We embrace closely, warmed by more than the sunshine.
“Have you got a name yet?”
“Yes. But we’re not telling.”

Ah – secrets.


2 Responses to “Sunshine Again.”

  1. sulz Says:

    you’re going to be a grandma? wow.

    i love babies. they just have a special charm that makes you want to love and care and protect them from harm.

    until a pungent smell wafts from their butts.

  2. matariki Says:

    Yes. Gonna be a grandma! This is the second attempt for them as they lost their last one at 37 weeks.

    So, we are somewhat nervous still…

    And, that stinky thing? Well, you just hand ’em back at that stage! 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: