Last week I had my big 20 week ultrasound. I am happy to report everything is looking great with baby "String"! Baby is measuring a bit small, but no one seemed too concerned, so I decided to try not to be either.
The night before the ultrasound I wrote the following feelings on finding out the gender of the baby, something we have never done. This post appeared as a guest post on Mom vs. the Boys - a great blog about a mommy to all sons. Now that it has been posted over there, I thought I would share it here.
Many of you who are friends with me on facebook already know what we learned about the sex of the baby - but for those of you who don't know, I will post that tomorrow!
Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady?
I wasn’t a little girl who always had a baby doll, dreamed of her wedding day or had a mile long list of future baby names.
I was raised with brothers, “the rose between two thorns” my grandmother called me. Although I wasn’t sure what I wanted out of life I knew this much: if I was going to be a mommy, I’d have a house full of boys.
Never being a “girly girl” myself, I didn’t image ballet class, hair bows and emotional breakdowns over receiving the wrong color sippy cup.
My motherhood dreams had a different sort of theme. Frogs in the freezer and monster truck rallies sounded like good old fashioned family fun to me!
The man who became my husband had a similar dream. He briefly considered the priesthood, but knew it wasn’t right for his life because he wanted to be a father of a different sort. Just as mine did, his images of parenthood involved little boys….holding baseball bats.
While pregnant with our eldest child we both just “knew” a daughter was on her way and decided to wait for the birthday to find out. After all, “there are only so many real surprises in your adult life” as people say. But, after 28 hours of labor we didn’t care what came out of me, as long as it came out. When our daughter was born my husband almost passed out – he thought I had given birth to a still born son. In his defense the placement of an umbilical cord can be confusing at first glance, and his wife may have forgotten to mention to him that newborns don’t come out pink and snuggly. Therefore, the announcement of a healthy baby girl wasn’t as climactic as TV dramas about child birth had convinced me it would be.
Twelve months later we found ourselves checking back into labor and delivery. We had stuck by our decision that gender is to be learned when baby makes their appearance, but we knew it was a boy. Except, it wasn’t a boy. She was a girl. And in a matter of twelve months we had become a family of girls.
Funny thing about pink things, they tend to multiply – and migrate. What started as a closet in the nursery full of miniature pink clothing turned into a room of pink and glitter. A year later our living room is covered in the feathers that have fallen off a play boa and our cupboards are stacked with pink and flowered plastic dishes.
Last week at dinner my baseball loving husband found himself raising his voice to two little girls.
“That is a fork, NOT a magic wand! We use it for eating, not waving! The next girl to use their fork as a magic wand will have their baby taken away!”
I tried to hold in my laughter. But, the next morning when he went to put his shoes on he pulled out a balled up knot of costume jewelry. The look on his face had me in stitches for hours. Things are too fun over here. Clearly God knew better about what we needed than we did. I wouldn’t give these moments back for anything.
As the pink took over, the thoughts of rowdy little boys faded. In fact, the thought of those rowdy boys jumping on my furniture and running up my grocery bill has become a bit frightening. We love our little bubble of estrogen!
We’ve got thing figured out over here, being a family of daughters. Just as my two beauty queens have helped me find my own inner girly girl, we’ve decided to add to our family once again. And here I sit. 20 weeks pregnant on the eve of the big 20 week scan. The element of surprise has been lost on us and in the morning we will be asking about the gender.
The gender of the third baby has become a bit of an obsession. I’ve been counting down the days and may have even purchased the IntelliGender test. I knew I should have left well enough alone and was acting like a fool when I set off the alarm in the store and had to take the walk of shame, showing what is was I had purchased and that yes indeed, I had paid for it. There I was, red faced and holding a blue and pink box splattered with question marks and promises that it could tell me what color rompers to buy. I couldn’t wait the recommended 10 minutes to read the results. When the test read GIRL I didn’t know if I was excited or disappointed. I felt the same as I had an hour and an embarrassing trip to the drug store earlier. And I was $25 bucks poorer.
Everyone knows a pregnant woman holds the right to change her mind. My problem is that I don’t know what I want. I go back and forth daily. Do I want to hear “it’s a boy!” and fulfill my dream of mothering a sticky, dirt covered goof ball? Or, do I want things to stay the same and be the family of girls, which I have so grown to love? Am I ready to let go of that dream of long ago and replace it with the pink colored reality that has turned into a dream? Will I have more than 3 children, or is this the final say on the gender(s) we will parent?
All I know is that I feel like a child on Christmas Eve. Waiting with so much anticipation that no matter what the morning brings, it may also bring a bit of disappointment because the excitement will be over. Then again, with my luck, we’ll have a modest baby who doesn’t want to share.
But if I was a betting women, I’d go all in on baby gal number 3!