Today was my 32 week ultrasound. Mint came with me to the appointment and witnessed firsthand that my baby girl is currently measuring 4lbs, stuck her tongue out, and literally put her foot in her mouth multiple times. Clearly she is genetically related to me.
At the end of the ultrasound, Mint commented that she was surprised that I didn’t ask more questions during the procedure, like what body parts certain images on the screen were. She wondered if it was because I was used to having ultrasounds with Ari. I told her this was not the case, but rather I’d been traumatized by an ultrasound technician in the past.
When I was pregnant with Ari, Wil and I went to the 20 week ultrasound so excited to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.
During the procedure, I was asking the technician questions left and right;
“What’s this? What’s that? Is that a leg?” That sort of thing. Finally she had had enough. She turned to me and said in a very thick Russian accent:
“Do not talk during procedure!”
Wil and I looked at one another shocked. Needless to say, I shut my mouth. At the end of the procedure, she handed Wil a picture of Ari’s penis and said:
“Congratulations! It’s a boy!”
Upon reflection, I figured that the questions were distracting this technician from doing her job, but I really wanted to know what I was looking at on the screen!
From that day forth, I haven’t attempted to ask what things were doing an an ultrasound procedure, but rather, I wait until the end to ask anything. Yes, I am the victim of PTUSTS: Post-Traumatic Ultrasound Technician Syndrome.