While it’s not the first thing people have been saying to us, (because that’s typically been some barely socially acceptable version of “Holy sh*t, you guys don’t waste any time”) their attention quickly turns to the baby’s gender. We’re just as curious as they are and won’ t know for another two weeks. But we do intend to find out. Some traditionalists scoff at this, touting the excitement of finding out at the birth what it is. I figure there will be enough excitement at the birth what with the arrival of a new human being on the planet and all.
Also, I’m not sure if this has fully conveyed in the two years of written evidence I’ve provided but I’m something of a fussbudget when it comes to decorating and planning. I like things just so. Not that I intend to drape the room in pink or blue bunting while piping in “Lollipop” or “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” but it will be nice to have the ability to throw in a few splashes of decorative gender-stereotyping here and there.
As we wait for the news, I’m considering the odds.
Case to be made that it’s a boy:
* All of my husband’s siblings’ children are boys. Among a very large extended family he has only two female cousins.
* I eat cereal for breakfast. Every day.
Case to be made that it’s a girl:
* My siblings both produced a girl and I have plenty of female cousins.
* The baby’s heart rate was 150 at the last checkup. There is some thinking that this indicates a little ladybird.
* The Chinese told me so. November + 31 = Girl. I don’t question any country that gives us so many tasty uses for bok choy.
However my chum Kathryn mentioned a troublesome possibility the other day. Apparently some babies don’t reveal the goods during the sonogram. She has two friends who wanted to find out and they got nary a peek at what it might be during sonograms. She also made the following point: “I don’t know, if she or he is a [My Maiden Name], you won’t see anything but crossed legs and a disapproving baby face. Maybe a little ‘tsk tsk.'” Sadly, she’s right. We’ll just hear, “Excuse me, I believe that is my private business,” before it turns its fanny, disgruntled, to obscure the view and go back to sleep.
Perhaps we’d be well advised to follow the Grosse Pointe Blank approach:
Martin Q. Blank: Well, you don’t know my cat, it’s very demanding.
Debi: It? You don’t know if it’s a boy or girl?
Martin Q. Blank: I respect its privacy.