So, Shankapottamus (that is what Nicole and I have been calling the squatter. I guess I should explain that. We were at the doctor's one night and I called the baby "it" and I thought the doctor was going to take my head off. She insisted that we come up with a name to call the baby until we knew if it was a boy or girl. So, then we had to figure out what to call mini-me and we were watching t.v. when one of those E-trade commercials came on with the talking baby. I love those commercials! Anyway, it was the one where the baby is in a locker room with an older gentleman after a round of golf and the baby starts telling the guy about the rules of golf and that he should stop his complaining and then he calls him Shankapottamus. That's where the name came from and it stuck. Sorry, kid, but that's really the story. But I have already digressed...again, sorry). Where was I? Oh yes, So, Shankapottamus is in there, growing away and attempting to knock down more walls to make an even bigger space for him/herself. At this rate, the kid is going to have more square footage available in my uterus than we have in the house! Anyway, Shank has been kicking things up to the point where you can occasionally see my clothing move while I'm just sitting there hanging out and making the case for me to start thinking about soccer scholarships for colleges.
Well, earlier in the week, Shank wasn't moving as much as normal for a few days in a row and the doctors had told me to give them a call if something like that happens, so I did and I spoke with a receptionist who took down some information and put me on hold. After a few minutes, she came back, asked me a few more questions, and put me on hold again. Then she comes back on and says, "You need to go to Labor and Delivery right now." Now, seeing that I was at work, I said, "Wait, right now?" And her reply, with a tone of disbelief was, "Uh, yes. Right now". Ok, so normally, I try not to overreact, but the fact that I was being ordered to Labor and Delivery by a receptionist was a bit more than I was ready for at 10 am on a Monday morning. So, with rising panic in my voice, I call Nicole's classroom from my office and explain that the doctor wants us to go to the hospital ASAP. Within minutes, we were out the front door and being shuttled to our car in the employee lot by Nicole's supervisor as the two of them start discussing the best way to get to the hospital (my thought is let's go by car and drive as fast as we can). Anyway, long story short, we get to UConn, we immediately get taken in and hooked up to fetal monitors to hear the heartbeat (which was fine). After about 45 minutes of that, the doctors decide to do an ultrasound to check for movement and there, sucking a thumb, is Shank. We can see the heartbeat, watch the breathing, and we can now see that Shank is no longer in the breach position. While it was nice to see Shank, the doctor starts talking about how she is looking for certain markers and Shank has achieved a score of 6 out of 10, but she wants to go for the whole 10 which requires Shank to move a bit. So, reminiscent of an earlier ultrasound, the doctor starts punching and poking my belly to get Shank to move and...nothing. Still just sitting there sucking a thumb. A little more poking, some verbal encouragement from the doc and...still nothing. Being a persistent professional, the doc keeps working to help Shank get a perfect 10, so she keeps poking and we finally get to see some movement. Anyone want to venture a guess as to what that may have been. I'll give you a hint...it was very similar to the other ultrasound story I told....don't remember? Ok, Shank, while sitting there every so freaking cute, decides to give a slight ass wiggle to the doc and go back to just hanging out. "Well, that's enough for me!" the doc chuckles and tells me to go home and rest. No problem.
So, I go home, call out for the rest of the day, call out of my other job, and relax on the couch. Well, I guess Shank had just been spending a few days chilling out to save up energy because now, for the next several days in a row and usually mostly during the time when I would normally be sleeping, Shank is up practicing bicycle kicks and using the new Soloflex system that was delivered in the middle of the night. Now, seeing as Shank has moved into position quite nicely, he/she has more accessibility to the area immediately surrounding my bladder. What this translates into is that at certain times of the day, I am overcome with an urgent need to pee which lasts about 1 second before passing. Usually, I can handle this without a problem, but one morning, at work, Shank kicked the bejesus out of my bladder and I was ABSOLUTELY convinced that I was going to piss myself right there in the mail room in front of about 3 co-workers. "HOLY CRAP" I shouted as those around me looked at me with concern only to have me explain, "Sorry. Thought I was going to piss my pants". Thankfully, the women in the room could relate and didn't look at me as if I had been using some of the students' meds without permission. Then, later that night, Shank must have gotten mad at me for revoking his building permits and turned to face my backside. As I lay there trying to go to sleep and being super hypervigilant about trying to feel for movement, Shank literally starts KICKING ME IN THE ASS!!! Can you believe the punk?!?!? I swear. You all mark my words, once this kid is born and the doctor turns to me and says, "It's a ????? Do you want to hold your ?????" My response is going to be, "First, Shank has to do a 5 minute time out for kicking my ass!" And, I hope Shank enjoyed the opportunity to kick my butt, because that will be the LAST time it happens without me returning the favor. Do you hear me kid?!?!? I'm not kidding!!!
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