My Giraffe

Today I had my checkup and an ultrasound. An ultrasound that I sweet talked my doctor into ordering on my last visit because I insisted that I was giving birth to a mammoth child. I was quite convinced that I was indeed carrying an elephant around and that he needed to know that so he could kindly let me schedule an induction with him. An induction that would involve me being greeted at the hospital door by the anethstesiologist begging me to let him administer my epidural right there in the parking lot. We would need to plan this birth and it would need to be sooner than my due date in order to insure that I didn't bring Big Will home wearing six month clothes.

So I anxiously climbed onto the ultrasound table today, fully prepared to see the silhouette of a two month old pop onto the screen. Well, actually, I was prepared to hear the following words, "Um, Mrs. Standley, I don't know how to tell you this. Um, it appears that we missed something on your last ultrasound. It appears that you're having twins. Congratulations!" Yes, I had already rehearsed the conversation I would have with Jody, when I called to tell him we would be having two babies, not one. So I awaited those words. And they didn't come. Relief. Great, only one baby. Thank you, Lord. Now go ahead and give me the news. I am going to have to birth an elephant. Go ahead and tell me that this is the biggest baby you've ever seen in your life. Then pat my leg and sympathize with me, telling me how you can't imagine how bad my back must ache and how you know I must feel like my stomach is certainly going to explode at any moment. Go ahead, tell me.

Instead I heard, "Oh, he looks just great. He is in the 67th percentile right now and weighs five pounds, three ounces. I'd say he'll probably be an eight and a half pound baby." Are you kidding me, I thought. This baby feels so different than my other two. I knew Jack (8 lbs 6 oz) was larger than Sam (7lbs 10 oz). I think women can tell pretty well if they are having a big baby or not. That's why I knew with great certainty that Will was going to be a huge, massive baby. I hurt all the time. I have contractions that would have sent me squealing tires to the hospital on my first baby (I know only to be nicely sent back home, but I still would have gone). I feel certain his leg or some part of his body has fallen out of my body at least ten times a day. My hips ache as I try to sleep. When he moves it looks like some alien life form has overtaken my abdomen as my stomach morphs into a lopsided, uneven, hard lump. Yes, I was so sure he was going to already weigh nine pounds today, not a little over five. "Well, how long is he?" I asked. "Oh, there's no way to tell because he is so balled up."

And there it was. My explanation. The reason for my pain and misery. He may not be a heavy weight, but he is certainly a giant. That's it! I will be giving birth to a eight and half pound baby, but he will be thirty inches long. I'm having a giraffe, not an elephant. That's why I am in agony. I am carrying the world's longest baby. At least that's what I'm telling myself. And anyone who asks.

The World's Longest Baby