the one where things don't turn out like I thought they would.

After 1.5 hours of belly prodding - which does not a happy fetus make. . . classic in utero tantrums ala Harper circa '09 were felt by one and all - we know the baby is a ....

wait for it..

we don't know.

Kinda want to hit me right now? Yeah.. I know the feeling.

Boy, did we have a peach of an ultrasound tech.  It's fine, though. My honor was defended as I lie there. Beached, with a ky jellied midsection.  Harper yelled at her. More than once.  

Which may have been why she didn't give us any pictures of the baby to take home.

After 1.475 hours of prodding in a dark, empty room, she did swivel the screen our way and take approximately 7 seconds to point out the head and the spine (thanks for that. . . because those aren't the two most obvious parts of the fetal anatomy)

and direct us to an empty space between the baby's legs and indicate that.. "it could possibly be a boy." Oh. Yes.. as indicated by the blank space between the baby's legs. Again. Thank you.

And Harper had her first sip or 8 of Pepsi as a reward for a monster fit she threw after said 1.5 hours. 

...desperate times.. desperate measures.. all that jazz. 

I'll be tapping my toe to a different unsubstantiated rhythm tomorrow morning when she wakes up with a black tooth.

And disconcertingly, we then left the room with no answers, but punctuated our exit with the haughtiest "Good.Bye." an otherwise jovial, freshly caffeinated and sugared two-year-old can muster.

I'd post a pic.. but.. how about this one?

Because it makes me laugh. And I need one today: