One of the biggest milestones of any mommy-to-be’s journal is (cue dramatic music) the sex reveal party. Everyone wants to know, guess, and interview you.
“What did you eat and crave? Dairy? Ahhhh then it’s a girl.” “All you wanted to eat were sour things and you couldn’t stand your husband? You’re going to have a boy!”
There are countless traditions and tests online that one can undergo to find out the sex of the baby. I married a… hmmm … how can I put this nicely, a control freak and obsessive planner? Yea, that sounds just about right. He refused to leave it as a surprise.
With Gnocchi, I was convinced I was having a boy. My belly underwent analysis, “If you lose your hips first it’s a girl and if your belly grows out it’s a boy.” That was the least intrusive and least insulting of the comments. I got numerous, “Ohhh wow…you look amazing (as though that was such a rare thing) for sure it’s a girl…you look completely different.” Um, thanks?
With Cannoli, I wasn’t sure. I kept swinging back and forth boy, girl, before ultimately ending up (prep yourself for the cliché please) where most pregnant women end up: “Who cares what gender as long as they’re healthy and happy.”
Our appointment was today and I kept reminding myself (mostly my mother-in-law who so desperately wants a boy now) that it’s a win-win situation. When I try to lead by example and assure her that, “I would be happy with either” she responds with, “No, no, me too, but more happy with a boy.” How can I argue with that?
A boy would mean a brother for Gnocchi. Someone to make sure she wasn’t all that girly, a fear I am beginning to have because she seems to think paint is “dirty.” I’m serious. The nursery called me to say, “Ummmm yea…your daughter is refusing to touch paint. Maybe you should work on that at home?” I (as most new moms do) got defensive and tried to deflect the question/comment by responding with, “Mmmhmmm…and what type of paint are you exactly using?”
A boy would offer the non-BS unemotional truth about…anything. Most of all, a boy would mean a double agent. A spy on the inside. He could potentially help her better understand this strange Mars-derived gender.
Another girl would mean that we would be saving tons of money. Actually, not really because I’m semi allergic to hand-me-downs and don’t think it’s “fair” for one child to wear new items of clothing and another to wear pomegranate-stained, semi-ripped dresses. But, in principle I’d be saving money. Another girl would mean a sister. A best friend for life. A giver of the honest advice you will swallow easily. Tips and tricks on how to sneak out, talk to boys, perfect your awfully awkward dance moves and be a good mom. Most importantly though? Another girl would mean perfected performances of “Let it Go” from Frozen.
So, we found out. It’s official. We saw the…umm …his equipment. I’m happy of course, but I have to admit a teeny tiny part of me is a little bit disappointed. A boy meant that I couldn’t get the matching Anna and Elsa costumes. I couldn’t justify letting them skip school while memorizing the songs. And definitely no street-side “Let it go” performances to make some extra cash. I was crushed. That is, until a friend said that Cannoli could always play the role of Olaf. How perfect is that? An Anna and an Olaf. And no, Olaf is not on our list of names.
In all seriousness though, I am so excited to start a new adventure with a little boy. I’ll soon have one of each, a brother and a sister, and what it all boils down to, is they are both healthy and happy! Which really is what matters. And, Olaf will look so cute!