I sat back in the chair, raised my shirt, and waited patiently while the technician squeezed the warm jelly on my belly. I kept my fingers crossed. “Please,” I pleaded, “Can you tell us the gender?”
Um, yes, I admit, I’m only 12 weeks along. But I have one (yes, one) friend who found out the gender of her baby at her 12 week ultrasound. So, if it happened for the one mom out of hundreds that I know, why shouldn’t I be able to get this oh-so-coveted information? In the defense of the technician, she did put in a good effort to seek out boy and girl parts. Unfortunately, my baby thinks patience is a virtue. Humph.
As I sat in the chair, staring at the ultrasound screen, it occurred to me just why I so desperately wanted to find out the gender. I’m definitely not one who likes secrets, so there’s not a chance in heck I could ever wait nine months to be surprised on my delivery day. But somehow, with this pregnancy, knowing the gender of my baby is supremely more important. With Graham, I knew I was having a boy. But I also knew I’d likely have another baby. So regardless, my first baby’s gender was nice to know, would change my life forever, but there was always another baby in our future to mix things up all again.
Not this time. This could be my last pregnancy. My last kid. The gender will completely affect our family dynamic. Will our boys be wrestling on the floor during their freetime? Will my husband and I stand on the sidelines at soccer games while our sons take the field? Or will Graham be the big and sensitive brother, taking care of his little sister? Will Jon head off to basketball practice while I tote tutus and frilly things to ballet class?
It’s no mystery that I would love to have a daughter. What girly-girl doesn’t want a daughter to buy polka-dotted bloomers and pink hair bows for? But, don’t disregard my love for my son (and potential boy-Thing 2) . My son is my sunshine. He’s taught me more about planes trains and automobiles than this gal ever thought she’d know. I’ve learned to treasure rain puddles, and I’ve learned that making a mess at mealtime can sometimes be more fun that the eating part at mealtime. So, although it would be nice to have a girl to vote with me for the chick-flick on movie night or to turn getting a pedicure into a “family” event, I’d be happy to have a second boy.
Just come on, already! This momma needs to know. Which is while I’ll be pacing the halls until November 5th. (Pacing counts as exercise, right?) They may as well have told me to wait until kids learn to potty train themselves. Yep, that’ll be awhile….
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