Matt and I went to my midwife’s office today for our 20 week ultrasound, aka the day you can find out (if the baby cooperates) the sex. The tech was talking us through all the steps she was doing. There are two techs in the office, but this one is my favorite because she’s so nice and always goes into detail about what she’s looking for and what she’s seeing. There’s nothing more nerve-wracking than lying there on the table while the tech peers silently, with lips pursed, at the squishy thing inside your belly for 15 minutes.
Everything looked wonderful, she assured us. Limbs and digits where they were supposed to be, brain and organs developing on track. She asked if we wanted to know the sex, and we said yes. She squished the baby around a bit trying to get it to cooperate, but she finally got the wand in the right position - it’s a boy, she announced. No doubt about it.
Now, I’ve been telling everyone I thought it was a boy. I’ve been telling everyone that I wanted another boy. I love the close relationship my husband and his brother have. I was the worst kind of sullen, depressive, angst-ridden, unpleasant to be around teenage girl, and I feared the karmic retribution of that being visited upon me in years to come. On the practical side of things, since baby #2 will be born within a few days of Milo’s birthday, all of his clothes will be seasonally appropriate for the new baby to wear. Obviously, a girl could wear most of Milo’s stuff with a few embellishes here and there, but it would be even easier for a boy.
Now that I’ve gotten over my initial shock, I’m quickly coming around to the idea of another son. And really, the most important thing is that I’m so incredibly lucky to have a baby who’s developing in a healthy, appropriate manner, and I’m having a healthy and happy pregnancy.
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