Since the day we found out we were expecting, Steve and I began picking out boy names. But let me back that up even further: since I was a girl, I didn’t imagine my perfect wedding, instead I imagined my perfect family which consisted of a loving husband and me and two boys. The only other scenario included a girl as a third child if we got crazy and wanted a big family.
Little boys who like football and wear Miami Dolphins jerseys on Sundays while watching the game with their dad. Little boys who are rambunctious and like to run around and get into things and play rough. Little boys who wear polo shirts and sweater vests and adorable shoes. Little boys who push around a toy lawn mower next to their dad and ask for cars and Legos for Christmas. Little boys who love their mommy and idolize their daddy. Those are what I always wanted.
I am not girly. I’ve always gotten along better with boys. The girls I’m friends with are fine with me not being girly. They don’t ask me to get manicures. They don’t expect me to keep my hair looking cute. Some of my best friends have been boys. My dog is a boy. I’m more comfortable around testosterone than estrogen. Estrogen makes me nervous and fidgety. Steve is a man’s man that likes sports and beer has learned to do handy tasks around the house. We would have nothing in common with a little girl.
I was interested in those wives’ tales that claim to accurately predict your baby’s gender. But the Chinese calendar said I was having a girl. My cravings said I was having a girl. My face breaking out said I was having a girl. The only thing that pointed to me having a boy was my own wives’ tale that if you don’t have morning sickness, it’s a boy. I quickly gave up on those stupid wives’ tales since they wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to hear (if they had predicted a boy though, I would have believed them as seriously as some do a religion).
Everyone who knows I’m pregnant has asked me if I want a girl or a boy and I always reply without hesitation and with an exclamation point: “BOY!” I know I’m supposed to only want a healthy baby and the gender shouldn’t matter, but I’m much too honest of a person to give a fake answer like that. I mean, I want it to be healthy of course, I just prefer it to be a healthy boy.
The last couple weeks, I tried to mentally prepare myself for the possibility of this baby being a girl. I asked Steve last night, “what would be fun about having a girl?” and he said, “everything.”
“You can’t think of a single thing!” I moaned. I always think lack of specifics means nothing specific. Everything means nothing to me. I tried to come up with some girl names that I liked, and nothing stuck. I have one bizarre name that I would consider for a girl, but no one else likes it and maybe it’s better no baby gets stuck with it. My list of boys names just gets longer.
Today was our Ultrasound day. Today was finally the day we found out the gender. Steve and I both took the day off of work in excitement. The Ultrasound tech busied herself with dull shit like measuring the head and making sure our baby was growing at a normal rate, blah, blah. I tried to act interested, but the whole time I was trying to interpret the spots into private parts. At one point, I saw the outline of the pelvic bone and my heart leaped as I thought it looked like a male pelvis.
“Do you want to find out the gender or do you want to wait?” she asked. “Tell us! We want to know!” I blurted out uncontrollably. I looked at Steve and he nodded in agreement. She found the baby’s butt but couldn’t see between the legs. A lump formed in my throat as I prepared for the answer. What if it was a girl? I wasn’t ready for that to be her response. I only wanted her to tell me the gender if the gender was male. After what seemed like an eternity, she got a shot between the legs, and there it was in all its tiny glory: a scrotum.
Steve and I smiled widely at each other. It was like the day we found this house and couldn’t stop smiling. It was just what we’d hoped for. We immediately texted everyone in our contact lists. Everyone who knows us at all knows it’s what we wanted. So here we are: it’s getting dark out and I still haven’t stopped smiling. I’m just so thankful that we’re going to have a tiny Steve running around here soon. It definitely beats a mini-Holly any day. He is the better half of us, hands down.
The first woman a little boy falls in love with is his mom.