Woooooooo.  Here we go!


Just to answer the few requests I got for this:

I became an Ultrasound Technologist by applying for a Diagnostic Medical Sonography program.  They are offered at many different tech schools, and some at community colleges.  They are an average of 2 years, and require a TON of work, studying and effort.

Most of the programs out there have massive waiting lists, so to increase your chances of getting accepted or bumped up the list, you can take your required or non-program courses while you wait.  Anything you do to get yourself in and around the medical field makes you more attractive as an applicant:  take a phlebotomy course, or become a Nurses's assistant... even just volunteer at a hospital.  If you can, find someone who will let you shadow them as an Ultrasound Tech.  They want to know that you know what you're getting yourself into, so you wont drop out after the first four weeks of classes.

If there are other questions, or I didn't cover something, feel free to send me a private message so I don't plaster it all over the page.



My broken finger still hurts very much, still very swollen... and it hyper-extends whenever I don't have my brace on.  I don't know at what point I need to go back and see a doctor, but I'll ask one of my physicians to take a look at it today.


For the record:  not all of my posts are thoughtful and introspective.  Very few of them do I actually go off on some sort of emotional and interesting tangent.  Posts like the one that attracted many of you to subscribe to me are few and far between.  In the future weeks and months, you can look forward to:  stories about ultrasound, and the people that I meet daily; descriptions and excitement about my upcoming wedding (July 5th!); pictures from said wedding... and not a whole lot more!  Also, yes, I DID read every comment that was left on my featured blog.  Some of them were not worth reading... most of them were incredibly sweet, kind, touching, and well written.  Thank you to everyone who contributed. 


I started working out with a trainer on Friday.  He kicked my butt left, right and center.  I am excited about how I will look and feel at my wedding... and on my honeymoon.  Here is where I wink.

Daughters...



There are tons of us girls out there, right?  Don't girls outnumber boys?


This has been on my mind for such a long time now.  I can't tell you how often dads come in to my ultrasound room and tell me that all they want is a little boy.  I can count on one hand the number of new daddies that said they were hoping for a little girl.  I count myself lucky if they tell me that they would be "ok" with a little girl.

This hit me really hard yesterday.  It upset me to the point of tears a couple times.  Every time I came back to thinking about it, my eyes would mist up again.


I'll start with the story that brought it up, and where I went from there.


A couple came in yesterday with their lovely, tiny daughter.  She toddled in wearing little blue jean shorts, and a white camisole top.  Her hair was blond, and still short like a baby, but the ends curled just so.  She was so brave, she didn't need mommy or daddy to hold on to her, she just followed behind me like she was told.  Her dad said that today was her first birthday, and getting to see her little brother was her present!  I chuckled with him, and said that I bet it wasn't her only present. 

When we got into the ultrasound room, I gave them my whole speech about how my job is to get the pictures the doctors need to make sure the baby is developing normally and healthy.  I told them it would take me about ten minutes to get all of those pictures, and then I would be glad to show them the baby, take some pictures for them to take home, and (if they would like to) we would find out if it is a boy or a girl.  I remembered his comment from earlier, and asked him if they already knew what they were having.  He said, "No, but we just want a little boy this time."

I turned down the lights, and heard this tiny, piping voice say, "Lights on, peese."  I stopped where I was standing, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim room.  "Lights on, peese.  Too dawk."

My mouth fell open, I stood there stunned. 12 months old?  Today is her first birthday?  Full sentence?  I couldn't believe it.  I asked her, "You want the lights back on?"  She said, "Yes peese.  Too dawk in heea."

I laughed!  I said to her mother, "That is incredible!  She talks like a two year old!"

They started to tell me about all of the amazing things that she can do, what she talks about, how precocious she is.  Dad was fumbling all over himself pointing out how amazing his daughter was.  He demonstrated her ability to say goodbye in French, Spanish, and German when asked.  (Ever seen a 12 month old baby say 'auf wiedersehen'?  You melt.)  He seemed like such a proud poppa, so in love with his little girl.

I also have to point out here that their first daughter, and indeed this pregnancy as well were concieved with in-vitro fertilization - a procedure that only works around thirty percent of the time.  I had been thinking to myself the whole time how lucky and thankful they should be to be pregnant at all.


When I got to the part where I turned on my 'big screen' TV for them to watch, he half-shouted, "Ok!  Lets find that pee-pee!"  My heart sunk right there.  I already knew it was a girl.  I already knew it was a healthy, beautiful girl... and if she was anything like her big sister, she was gorgeous and amazing.  He didn't care... he just wanted a boy. 



This followed me all day, and then home again that night.  Brock and I started talking about it, and he couldn't see how much it bothered me.  I told him, "I need to call my dad."  He laughed and asked, "Why?  So you can talk about Stargate SG-1?"

With tears starting to flow down my cheeks, my voice caught in my throat and I replied, "No... so I can ask him if he was disappointed that I was a girl."

He gave me a big hug, and tried to console me, but Brock didn't get it - not even a little bit.  His reply was, "Of course he wasn't disappointed, he already had two boys."


Which is exactly my point.  If dad hadn't had two boys first, if I was his girl, if all he had was girls... would he have been disappointed?  Would I have been enough?  What is it about men that limit them to thinking they can only love a child if it has a penis, and not simply because it is their amazing, beautiful, blessing of a child?



John Mayer wrote a song that said, "Fathers, be good to your daughters.  Daughters will live like you do.  Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers, so mothers be good to your daughters too."

Daddies out there... your daughters love you.  They look up to you, and need you.  You are their strength, and their courage.  They want to make you proud, make you happy, make you smile.  Please, please don't ever be sad that you've been given a tiny human being that will love you first, and above all others.

I can't tell you how crushed I would be, now and forever, to know that my dad was disappointed when he found out that he had me.

I've been thinking about writing on this topic for a while.  Might as well do it now.


I always find myself looking at other people, and wondering what their 'pet dislikes' are about themselves.  Do you know what I mean?  When I see someone with really bad teeth, I wonder if they really hate their own teeth... do they notice it the same way that I do?  Do they absolutely hate their teeth, accept them as fine, or do they have something else totally unrelated that they dislike about themselves?


There are little things about myself that I look at, and they bug me.  I hate that my nose is bigger than Brocks.  When I was in 4th grade, for picture day, one of the helpers told me my ears stuck out too far, so I always notice that.  Are those the things that other people notice first about me, or are they just the things that I worry about?  If that isn't what other people notice, what instead do they notice first?


I think we get too focused in on the things we dislike about ourselves, only to magnify them and blow them out of proportion.  I read a study that said most people find themselves 20% less attractive than others find them.  I think that's pretty interesting. 

And when all is said and done, shouldn't I be able to get over my big nose (that I got from dad), and love my ears the way they are... just because everyone else thinks they look great?  Maybe I need to find that from within instead, because love and acceptance of self should be something I have... not something that is given to me.

How we view ourselves... it's a tricky subject.  My self-esteem is like a barometer, up on Monday, down on Tuesday, right around the middle Wednesday and so on.  I don't think I'm the only one.

Life is nuts.


Just a whole ton of things going on in my life right now, and none of them are things I feel comfortable writing about at the moment.

So... what else do I have to say?


My older brother, Ryan, is going to be here in about a month for the wedding.  Yeah, he's getting here a little early.  But that's ok!  He's gonna be here for three weeks, and it will be a lot of fun.  We'll probably get sick of each other, but we're used to that.  We like being sick of each other.

What else?  My schedule at work is killing me, every day.  It keeps getting worse.  This morning, I had six on my schedule, not including the one that didn't show up.  I did 12 ultrasounds before lunch.  The doctors are getting really pushy with their add-ons, which is frustrating.  Can they be brought back?  Is it urgent?  I have four patients waiting for me already.  No, do it anyways.


It's too bad I love my job so much... even though it frustrates me so much.  Hard to hate it, even when I hate the way it works out.

I apologized to Brock this morning for being so "period emo."  (If you don't know what emo is, do a google image search...)

He laughed, and said that I should wear more eye-liner so the world will have a warning.



How hilarious - when Brock and I first started dating, she went out of her way to get me to warn him of my excessively bad PMS symptoms.  She felt it was only fair for him to know what he was getting in to.  I don't ever feel like I'm being all that bad until afterwards, then I want to apologize.


Last month, Brock and I were watching American Idol when I was being period emo.  That is just a nice way of saying that I was being b-wordy.  (I don't call myself a b!tch.  Only b-word.)  I kept yelling mean things at the TV, and Brock was busting a gut.  Apparently, I'm only funny when I'm being a huge b-word.  At least he was entertained.


At least I'm not like this all the time!


I didn't want to come in to work today, but my schedule isn't horrible.  I'm tired of having a broken finger, but I can deal with it.  Brock and I worry and talk about money all the freaking time now, and it really sucks.



But -

I'm thankful that I have a job, and Brock does too.
I'm thankful that so many people love me and care about me.
I'm glad I have a car to drive, and I can afford the gas to put in it.
I'm glad that, even when I'm a b-word, my loved ones overlook it because I matter to them.
I'm thankful for the hugs and kisses I get when I need them.


Easy to be happy when you remind yourself just a little bit.