"God is in the details".Ludwig Mies van der Rohe

A detailed ultrasound is a sophisticated diagnostic procedure recommended to look for structural problems in the baby and to see if the baby is growing normally. It is usually performed at 18 weeks gestation.

We went for our detailed ultrasound last week.
This procedure was performed by a Chinese doctor instead of our usual obgyn. She was very nice and bubbly.
(I am terrible, I forgot her name. I blame it on my pregnancy hormones...I blame EVERYTHING on my pregnancy hormones. Heheheh!)

Anyway, we were very excited about this screening. Excited and a wee bit anxious too. We had absolutely no idea what it would show. Like all expectant parents, we pray and hope for a normal, healthy, happy baby and we were eager for the screening to show as such.

I was secretly EXTRA excited.
I’ve been a reading a lot of pregnancy materials and I knew that this detailed screening may be able to indicate the baby’s gender.

Like I said earlier, Wan and I only pray that our baby is normal, healthy and happy. Whether our firstborn is a girl or a boy is of no great concern. We’ve picked names for both and we’ve played various scenarios in our minds.

A robust, handsome son named Mikhail who is the exact mini replica of his daddy. We imagined dressing him up exactly like his father and tying his long, curly locks in a smart Antonio-Banderas-eat-your-heart-out ponytail. I pictured him running around the garden with his toy airplane, reading books on the branches of trees, riding his royal-blue tricycle, teasing little girls, charming adoring adults and being a typical, enchanting little boy. Wan pictured him dressed in the funkiest of clothes, strumming his mini-guitar, singing karaoke with his daddy, composing cute little tunes on his mini-keyboard and being a typical, ingenious little boy.

A vivacious, pretty little daughter named Marissa who looks like an angel but is a hyper-active, mischievous little girl. We imagined dressing her up in the sweetest of clothes and tying silk ribbons in her long, curly hair. I pictured her alternating her time playing with dolls, reading fairytales under the shade, running around with her toy airplane, speeding down the driveway in her cotton-candy pink tricycle, challenging little boys (and winning), charming adoring adults and being a typical, delightful little girl. Wan pictured her being the exact replica of me. (It’s obvious that Wan didn’t grow up knowing what little Mediha was like.)

So anyway, we were prepared for both.

On the day of the screening, I was all keyed-up. In fact, instead of my usual half-day leave, I took the entire day off. Wan was with me, of course, and we sat in the waiting room reading magazines and whispering silly anecdotes to one another.

The screening was done just like all the other ultrasounds I’ve went through. I lay on the bed with cold gunk on my tummy and the doctor started the scanning. It was very very very detailed. She would search around my tummy for the organ she was looking for, take measurements, determine whether or not the growth corresponded with the baby’s age and snap a photo.

First, we saw the spine.
Calcium shows well on the screen and we saw a slender yet brilliantly white line down the baby’s back. The doctor was pleased with what she saw and told me to maintain my diet to ensure that the baby has strong, healthy bones.
Seeing how my diet can have an effect on the baby, I made a note to myself: No more complaining about having to eat those calcium tablets. Drink more milk!

Then we saw the head.
Our baby has a very round head. That was how the doctor put it - “A perfectly round head”. She then drew a perfect little circle around the head to prove her point.
At that instant, both Wan and I blurted out:

“Just like the daddy”
“Just like the mommy”
Seems like both of us think the other has a perfectly round head.
Wan insisted that I’m the one with the round head because I was born by C-section and avoided the vacuum or forceps. I didn’t argue :)

Then we saw the brain.
A mass of gray in the baby’s skull. I have nothing to compare with but I was pleased to see that it was a sizeable brain in my baby’s head (I sound like a proud mommy already, don’t I?) The doctor took measurements and again said everything is going according to schedule.

Then we saw the baby’s face!!!
Okayla, technically, it was just the frontal skull but it was so cute. Two big eyes, a teeny nose and a gaping mouth. Apparently, the baby was yawning. I don’t think he found the screening very interesting. Of course, at this point we can’t really tell what the baby looks like, but I’m guessing he looks just like his daddy.

Then we saw the baby’s limbs. More specifically, his legs. They were parallel and pointed up. The doctor took measurements and snapped the pictures.
Then the doctor said “Okay, baby...Pull those legs apart. Let me see what’s there”

I perked up. Yes! That’s what I’ve been waiting for. My eyes were transfixed on the screen. The baby’s legs were still parallel.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Come, let us see..."said the doctor.
The baby actually moved his legs closer together.

We laughed.
“Baby pemalu”

“Come on baby, I’ve been waiting for this moment. Let mommy see” it was my turn to coax the little shyguy.

The baby moved his legs... and crossed them together.

The whole room echoed with our laughter.
“Aiyyyaaaa...this one like taukey one!” said the doctor.
“E eh, degilnyer budak kecik niii” said the mommy.
“Saja jer dia kenak mak dia” said the daddy.
(Translation: The baby's teasing his mommy)

The doctor started massaging my tummy “Lets see if I can get the baby to move in a different position”
“Come on, baby, let me see, pleaseeeeee” I beseeched the little darling in my tummy.

The baby then unceremoniously uncrossed his legs and held it wide apart.

What did we see?
Were you paying attention to how I’ve been referring to the baby?

Yes, it’s Mikhail.
We saw his pee-pee :)

So while Wan and I were gazing at the screen and giggling away, the doctor took measurements of the baby’s family jewels, snapped pictures and made a note ‘XY’ to indicate the baby’s gender.

At the end of the detailed screening, we were reassured by the findings that the baby was growing normally and healthily. And we also knew that we were now expecting our firstborn son. We walked out of the screening room with HUMONGOUS grins on our faces and the nurses smilingly teased us “Haa...dah tau la tu”

Now of course, we can only be 100% certain of the baby’s gender after the baby is born. But as far as the ultrasound screening goes, it’s a boy!


Little Boy / Little Man

Author: Clair Peach

What Are Little Boys Made Of?

Hopes and Dreams
Mischief and Laughs
Climbing up Trees
Splashing in Baths

What are the best men made of?

Hugs and kisses
Cuddles and Joy
Patience and kindness
Will make a man from this boy

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

I have a peculiar name.
Actually, I should rephrase that to ‘I have a peculiarly spelled name’.
My parents, in the enthusiasm of naming their firstborn, decided on the name ‘Mediha’ as in Arabic, it means ‘Praiseworthy’. They decided on the spelling of ‘MEdiha’ instead of the customary ‘MAdiha’ because... I don’t know actually. I think I asked them this question but received an unsatisfactory answer. Or maybe I haven’t asked them. I’ll get back to you on that.

My name being unique has its benefits. People often remember things that are odd. There are people who have only met me once and after a few months of not meeting, they glance at me and immediately remember my name. Maybe they use that memory-aid of association...Ah...it’s the weird woman with the weird name...Mediha! That’s it.

If you want to win friends, make it a point to remember them. If you remember my name, you pay me a subtle compliment; you indicate that I have made an impression on you. Remember my name and you add to my feeling of importance.
Dale Carnegie

The spelling of my name have sometimes led to confusion and mix-ups. The teachers at school would always ask me to repeat the spelling of my name loud and clear at the start of every term. An ustaz at the university insisted that my name is spelled ‘Madihah’ despite me correcting him over and over again. Hello, it’s MY name, not yours, Ya Ustaz.
When I was practicing, I always had problems with Registrars and Judges who needed to record my name down. So much so that I would have a standard introduction “Would it please the court, my name is Mediha Mahmood, M.E.D.I.H.A M.A.H.M.O.O.D, counsel for the Plaintiff”

I like my name.
I do. It is the source of many anecdotes.

Like the time this High Court Judge interrupted proceedings after I introduced myself by bellowing “Young lady, do you know that your name is redundant?”

Of course, being a young lawyer and still in awe of High Court Judges, I gazed at his Lordship, all wide-eyed and gulped “I’m sorry, Yang Arif?”
This huge robed being then peered down at me and bellowed “Your name. Mediha means praiseworthy. Mahmood means praiseworthy. It’s redundant!”
Completely flabbergasted (I was there to uphold justice for my client… I was not expecting having to justify my name!), I looked up at him... and was absolutely at loss for words. Which is a rare thing for me!
The creature then smiled benignly at me, leaned back and said “It’s a good name. Now carry on, let me see you live up to it.”

People that are really weird can get into sensitive positions and have a tremendous impact on history.
Dan Quayle (1947 - )

And then there was that idiot time-keeper during a debate session in Wellington, New Zealand. She needed to fill-up a form with the name of the debaters and she and I ended up having the most ludicrous conversation ever.

“Name please”
“Mediha Mahmood, third speaker. Spelled M.E.D.I.H.A M.A.H.M.O.O.D.”
“How do I spell that?”
“M.E.D.I.H.A M.A.H.M.O.O.D”
-pause-
...ok...uhm.. M.A.-”
“Sorry, no. It’s M.E.d.i.h.a”
“What? (((blank look))) I need the spelling of your name.”
“Yes, it’s M.E.D.I.H.A M.A.H.M.O.O.D”
“Okay...M.D.I”
“No, M.E.D.I.H.A”
“...M.A.E.D”
“No no...come, why don’t I just write it down for you”
“NO. Sorry, but debaters aren’t allowed to fill out this form on their own. Just give me the spelling of your name.”
(Have I not been doing that for the past few minutes???)
“It’s M.E.D.I.H.A M.A.H.M.O.O.D”
“Right. So, M.A.D.I.H.A”
“It’s M.E. ME. ME-diha”
“Yeah, and me-Claudia” (((roll eyes at the Neanderthal’ness of this silly Malaysian girl”
“You know what. Just go ahead and spell my name whatever the heck you want it to be.” (((getting very pissed-off at this silly Wellington girl)))
“O.kay...M.A.H.I.D.A M.A.M.U.D...There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

*sigh*

Therefore, for my darling firstborn, we have to be very particular in naming him/her.

I have decided to name him or her with a name that has a good meaning, is universally familiar and easily spelled.

Yes, I get to name the child because:
a) The child will already have a ‘Wan’ in front of his name, in lieu of his daddy being a Kelantanese
b) The child will already have Wan’s full name behind his own name

Therefore, the Mommy gets the honor of naming the tot.

If the baby’s a boy, his name will be Mikhail.
As in ArchAngel Mikhail.
If the baby’s a girl, her name will be Marissa.
As in ‘precious gem’.

I pray that Mikhail or Marissa will face minimal problems with their names and not have to indulge in banal conversations with eccentric judges or overly-intelligent time-keepers.

Of course, I know that I can’t completely eradicate name-related-problems with my firstborn. I already have the baby’s uncles and aunties dubbing the names I picked as ‘Mickey & Mimi’.

A name is the first gift parents give to a baby.
All I hope is that Mikhail or Marissa will be pleased with the name we have bestowed on him or her.

Have regard for your name, since it will remain for you longer than a great store of gold.
Ecclesiasticus, Aprocrypha (Ec. 41:12)

Rub your tummy, just like this.Rub it all day long!Rub,rub,rubba,rub. Play and sing along. The Muppets

I have a tummy.
It’s not huge just yet, but it’s there.
I’m still trying to get acquainted with my tummy.
It’s a very strange situation.

For all this time, I’ve lived with the typical young girl’s idea that having a tummy is a bad thing.
If you’re a guy, you’re supposed to have a washboard tummy, and if you’re a girl, you’ve got to have a smooth, flat one.
If you have a tummy (due to eating too much or being out of shape), you MUST hide it. The public must NEVER know of your shameful, protruding abdomen.
If you’re trying to impress someone, Girl, you have to SUCK.IT.IN.

And now, I have a tummy.
I tried to suck it in, but it’s unsuckable.
I find myself trying to conceal it but bending a bit (my posture is definitely suffering) or fluffing-out my shirt...
But the tummy still pokes it way out.

It’s there. And it makes me self-conscious.
I keep thinking people are looking at me and smirking about how fat I am and I have to resist the urge to mutter non-stop 'I'm pregnant, I’m pregnant'.

I’ll be in a crowded lift and accidentally bump my tummy on someone and I’ll get all embarrassed. Apa lah, Diha. So what if you have a tummy?
It’s supposed to be there la, for heaven’s sake, you’re 4 months pregnant!

I have GOT to cleanse my brain off the superficial-madness of having No Tummy. I should be PROUD of my bump.
Be like Angelina Jolie and wear tight lycra clothes to show it off. Perhaps not.
I think I’ll settle for the Catherine Zeta-Jones look and wear nice clothes that don’t HIDE the bump but don’t SHOVE it in people’s faces either.

It’s a funny feeling. Being bloated all the time.
This distended belly can get pretty distracting for a 1st-time mom.
I find myself putting my palms on my belly and asking myself "Is that you, baby? Or is it that the huge plate of pasta I just ate for lunch?"

I also have a tough time trying to get comfortable. I usually sleep best sprawled on my back, all stretched out with my legs apart and my arms akimbo (not very ladylike, I know). Now, with a tummy, this is a very unpleasant position to be in. I get breathless after a while and my back will ache like crazy. So I find myself sleeping so primly on my side, with my legs together and my hands folded under my cheek. Wan finds it so amusing... That the baby is turning me into a lady. Hmph.

I am also baffled as to how to wear my pants. Over the bulge or under the bulge. Sometimes it’s more comfortable over, sometimes under. It’s good that these pregnancy pants are adjustable.

And my tummy is getting a lot of attention.

My husband occasionally glances at it and beams with pride, like my tummy is his very own masterpiece. Though I suppose, it IS... sort of.
Sometimes, when we’re in the car, he places his free hand on my tummy and pats it affectionately. I think I preferred the courting days when his free hand was elsewhere. (On my hand laaa. Get your mind out of the gutter... Yes,YOU.)
There was one evening as we were in bed, winding down to sleep. Wan propped himself up with his elbow, bent his head near my reclining body... and sang to my tummy. He sang an entire song to my perut. It was disturbingly sweet. He used to serenade me, but now only my abdomen gets the pleasure.

My tummy gets attention from Well-Meaning Makciks too.
Remember them?
They’re the ones who pestered me during my single days about ‘the necessity to get married and to get married SOON’. The ones who offered unsolicited advice regarding my beauty regime during wedding preparations. The ones who whispered bedroom secrets in my ears to ‘prepare me for my wedding night’.
Now, these Well-Meaning Makciks have something new to focus on. Yup, my perut.

They use me and my tummy to predict the baby’s gender.

"E ee Dihaaa... You’re looking so neat. It’s going to be a boy. If one is having a girl, she’ll take away all her Mama’s beauty. You’d be all frumpy and messy. This one is definitely a boy."

"Hmm... let me look at you. You’re so neat! Hidung tak kembang, kaki tak bengkak, perut pun bulat comel... Mesti baby girl nih."

"Mediha Mahmood, let me feel that tummy. (((Uncomfortable pause as I get groped by a 60-year-old woman))) Bulatnyer perut... no bumps. Besar kat atas... ni mesti girl ni"

"Hah? You tak nak makan asam? Meh sini, auntie nak rasa (((Uncomfortable pause as I get groped by a 50-year-old stranger I met in the lift))) Oohhh... bulat besar nih... very taut. You’re going to have a boy, dear"

It’s all very confusing.

I’d like to know my baby’s gender, actually.
Gives me time to plan stuff to buy and to adapt to having a son/daughter around. My mom never wanted to know any of our genders... she preferred to have an element of surprise. But I think Wan and I would like to know. Then I can start calling the baby by name instead of ‘Baby’ all the time.

And I can stop people from playing guessing games while gawking at my tummy.

Rub your tummy, just like this.
Rub it all day long!
Rub your tummy, rub it hard,
While we sing our song.
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub, rub, rubba, rub
Rub
Pay and sing along.