So long as this pregnancy progressed as uneventfully as it has so far, last Thursday was going to be the last doctor's appointment that Paul accompanied me on. It was an exciting one: We were going to find out baby's gender!
Unfortunately, baby wouldn't cooperate and would barely move during the ultrasound. No gender reveal that day. Fortunately, I had a follow-up screening at another doctor's office the following Monday, so maybe baby would be rockin' and rollin' at that time.
Paul met me at the office on Monday, and we both hoped for better luck. Of course -- need I really say this? -- the baby's health is our main concern, and everything's right on track. With that established, the tech asked if we wanted to know the gender. I responded with a resounding, "YES!"
Girl, she said. She was 90 to 95 percent sure.
I was ecstatic, although my ardor has cooled enough that I now truly believe I would have been equally happy with either a boy or girl. With absolutely no experience to back me up, I figure a girl is probably more fun to raise as a baby and toddler (Dresses! Bows! Frills!) and much, much harder as a tween and teen. As frequent users of sarcasm ourselves, Paul and I figure that's just one more thing we'll be bequeathing.
Paul simply wants someone he can play catch with. That, I remind him, isn't out just because we'll have a girl. But, he reminds me, I never liked that kind of stuff when I was a kid. What makes me think our daughter will?
I don't know that she will. But there's no guarantee a son would have either. In any case, I think we'll see a ball and glove once all is said and done.