27 weeks, 3 days.

When we said her name at the doctor's office this morning she turned her face toward us.

Jason, the ultrasound tech, and I kept our eyes fixated on the screen, all of us repeating her name. With each "Adelyn" it became clearer that she could hear us, her mom, her dad, speaking to her. She opened and closed her eyes and her mouth, kicked her bony arms against the wall holding her in, looking desperate to get out, to stretch out and be free. Three more months--I hope--and she will be.

Getting ultrasounds has been by far the most amazing and strangest part of this pregnancy. Feeling her move is significant, yes, but watching a tiny hand push against your uterus while you feel that bump under your skin is entirely different story.

And each time we go, I feel that familiar sense of worry and panic. Growing up with a malfunctioning body will do that to you--make you distrust your insides. And being pregnant is the ultimate test of letting go of control. Your body is doing all the work. Your body is growing those bones and that heart and that liver and those lips and eyes, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but wait.

My malfunctioning body has defied my expectations over and over with this pregnancy. Not only is Adelyn growing just fine--the main concern for patients' with Crohn's disease--she's big. Two pounds, 11 ounces at 27 weeks. That puts her in the 78th percentile for her size. Even though ultrasounds usually make every body part look like pure bone--often lacking flesh--I saw a glimpse of chub on her still miniscule cheeks. She's perfect. And judging by one of our ultrasound pictures, she's already giving Angelina Jolie a run for her pouty-lipped money.