We went in for an ultrasound today. All these ultrasounds are quite strange for me; we had none with D1 and only one early on to date D2. (And I still didn't believe the doctor's date. But apparently they were right.) With twins they like to do them every few weeks to make sure everyone's growing reasonably well.
The ultrasound technician at this office is less personable than the one at the old office. This is good. The other technician was always pointing out every body part to me as she measured it, in an expectant way, as if I was to coo over it. "There's the femur." "There's the kidneys." Now, I'm as daffy over newborns as any hormonally-crazed female, but I just can't work myself up into a tizzy over ultrasound images of femurs. Even faces aren't too charming on ultrasound, looking as oddly sliced-through as they do. About the only thing that's cute on an ultrasound is fingers and toes.
Twin measurement ultrasounds take forever. Well, half an hour, which is forever when you have thirty-five extra pounds sitting on your spine and have to lie back. They should invent an ultrasound table where you can lie on your stomach with a hole cut out for your belly and they run it from underneath.
Everyone is growing well, and Baby A is definitely a girl, and she has her head down. Baby B does not, but the doctor thinks he's in a good place to move around when Baby A gets out of the way. They each weigh about five pounds. That's getting to be a lot of baby. Of course, I was ten pounds when I was born, but that was two weeks past my due date.