It occurs to me that all our baby pictures could be invoking jealousy from our expectant mother friends. After all, who else do you know that got a sono at six weeks? But then again, not taking advantage of the perks of this eighty-hour-a-week job would be like Sed spending all day churning ice cream by hand and then throwing it into the pond.

Her hospital recently got another new piece of technology: the 3D sonogram machine. Since we went home to visit family over the weekend, one of the attendings was good enough to take what can only be described as a metric assload of photos to share.



In most of the images we've taken before, Margarita is facing the camera. It's nice every now and then to get a profile shot. Sed says that the difference between textures of her face and the top of her head means that there's probably some hair coming in. Since I was born with an afro, it wouldn't be surprising.



Here's how you can tell this is my baby: already she's got her umbilical cord in her mouth, having clearly acquired the Moya predisposition to think, "Man, this extra skin is annoying. Maybe I can chew it off."



For most of the shoot, the kid had her hands in this raised position. I still think she's going to play center for Don Flanagan, so this to me is a defensive posture, but her girly mom says it's pre-ballet, her swim-coach grandma calls it a diving pose, and her Isotopes-superfan grandpa sees her leading The Wave.



"All right, enough, people. Get that camera out of my face."