More Than Halfway There!!!
I had my 20-week checkup and ultrasound this week. There was a little bit of drama, like when I called the office at 9:05 a.m. to see if they could move my appointment from 3 p.m. that day to sometime earlier.
“Actually,” said the receptionist, “I show that your appointment was this morning at 9.”
I hung up her, changed out of my pajamas and left the house seven minutes later (but not before grabbing an apple, a banana, a tub of yogurt and a piece of homemade bread). Good thing my mother and stepdad are visiting this week to take care of Chiara. Otherwise I don’t know what I would have done with her. “Stay here in the closet, I’ll be back in 90 minutes. You’ll be fine.”
But that was really the only excitement we had. I saw the doctor, the head of the prenatal practice, who was wonderfully reassuring. My weight is up; my blood pressure is down (112 over 68. Or is it 68 over 112?). Two heartbeats, check. OK – come back in four weeks.
The next day we had our ultrasound. The Peas are too big for us to see both entire bodies in the same shot. But we saw a bunch of parts.
At one point we saw a perfect profile of a face. And then over the chin, a knee. Over the nose, a shin. Over the forehead, an ankle and a little foot that repeatedly kicked his brother in the head. It was magical.
The very best part is that both twins are exactly the same size, measuring at 347 grams and 349 grams respectively. When I told my brother, the one who works for the Justice department, he said, “Oh. So that’s about a little less than a pound each.” (He’s right: it’s about 13 ounces.) I was so impressed with his conversion skills he felt obligated to explain: “I know because methamphetamine is measured in grams and then we have to convert it ounces.”
So when I see a fetal weight of 350 grams, I’m thinking like it’s enough prosciutto to feed four ballet dancers and he’s thinking it’s enough to put someone away for at least ten years. Longer, depending on the purity of the meth, of course.
But the really important thing is not how 13 ounces compares in narcotics and deli meats; it’s how it compares to other 20-week fetuses. And it’s 2.5 ounces MORE than the average “singleton” at the same gestation, according to this chart I found online. Which must be right because I found it online. (Although, come to think if it, this also is the site where a reader commented on her “fracturnal” twins.)
In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that the error margin is +/- 50 grams. In other words, ham for plus or minus a person at dinner or plus or minus five years jail time (depending on the purity of the meth, of course). Or as in online fetal charts, the average weight of a singleton at 20 weeks on the minus side or a 22 weeker on the plus side. Either way, we’re growing and looking good! Thanks everyone for your thoughts and prayers.
And lastly, a cute thing Chiara said to me (besides running around naked with a tiara declaring that she is the Mouse King). Chiara looked at me today—I am in my third trimester clothes already—and said, “Those are some pretty big pants for such a little lady!”
OH - and this is what 20 weeks looks like with the fetal equivalent of $40,000 worth of meth.
© 2010 Janine Kovac