The Setting: A relatively sunny South Florida day.
The Soundtrack: Just typing. Hoosband accidentally dumped tea on the music box, and I don't feel like dealing with Pandora or the television.
On the Stove-top: Sadly nothing. Must go to work soon. Wishing I could stay home and make Honey Walnut Bars.
The Scenario: Went to the doctor on Friday. Found out I am giving birth to He-Man's arch nemesis.
The ultrasound technician said she was 45% sure it was a girl, which means there is a 55% chance that we have a boy who can do remarkable penis tricks (like hiding it completely).
Either way, it looks like we have a swimmer or potential gymnast on our hands. This baby likes to move.
Hoosband and I held hands as the pictures flashed on the screen. We saw her spine and tiny little vertebrae. We saw her ribcage and fledgling limbs. It was incredible.
We wonder what our little girl will look like.
Based on our most-reported celebrity look-a-likes, it's entirely possible our daughter might look like the lovechild of Emile Hirsch and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Kurt Russell and Ellen Page, or, my personal pick, Laurence Fishburne and Punky Brewster (and yes, I mean the character, not the actress Soleil Moon Frye, as our resemblance terminated when she went through puberty and developed certain body parts I am lacking even in pregnancy).
But right now, as best as the ultrasound can capture, our beloved little one looks most like another cherished 1980s television character: the bony antagonist of Masters of the Universe fame.
He-Man fan though I was, I pray that Pants Juice gets a little cuter towards the end of the incubation phase.
I'm just not sure I have what it takes to be Mother of Skelator.