Ultrasound technology is amazing. It allows us the rare privilege to spy on our children in utero before they can yell at us to give them their privacy. Matt and I are lucky to get ultrasounds every two weeks now — one of the few perks of having a high risk pregnancy. Thus far, ultrasound reconnaissance has shown us healthy heartbeats, ample amniotic fluid, kicking legs, tiny spines, and itty bitty weiners. With so many unknown factors swirling about this pregnancy, it’s a relief to be able to peek in periodically and see that everyone’s doing OK.
Then there’s 3-D ultrasound technology–something that was obviously designed by Wes Craven to terrify expectant parents.
The 3-D ultrasound transforms beautiful children into ghoulish lumps of wax. The first time we had it done I was convinced that all three of our trips were missing noses. The second time, their noses had grown to monstrous proportions. “Look how handsome!” the technician cooed as I stared, horrified, at a baby with the melting face of my grandfather. She handed me a set of 3-D photos to take with me in case I ran out of fodder for my nightmares. And as if things weren’t scary enough, in one of the photos my placenta appears to have a face.
A FACE, people. Leering at the camera as my poor, innocent, melting grandfather baby sleeps next to it, unaware.
This goes to show there are faces out there that not even a mother can love. We will have to get this placenta a job in radio.