I should’ve known. Of course we’re having a boy. All of the unofficial signs (carrying high, glowing, etc.) pointed to Rachel having a boy, but I held out hope for a girl until the bitter end. And for about 5 minutes, we thought we actually were having a girl…
So I’m on Skype watching Rachel and her parents during her ultrasound, which was pretty mundane in of itself, at least initially. There’s nothing truly notable about seeing your in-laws read trashy magazines and crack jokes in a waiting room or Rachel complaining about having to pee since that’s all pregnant women ever want to do. But it meant a lot to me. For the first time of Rachel’s pregnancy, I felt like I was actually there for her. I mean, we talk daily and I make sure that she has what she needs, but I’m never actually there for her. As in, present for what she’s going through, whether good or bad. On Tuesday, I felt present. That was important.
Rachel and her parents walked into the doctor’s office and the doctor hooked her up to whatever machine produces the ultrasound. The doc went through labeling the different body parts (“there’s the head,” “oh look, there’s a leg right there,” “look at the size of those eye sockets!”), seemingly building up the suspense for the gender reveal intentionally. After a question about whether we wanted to know the gender was answered affirmatively (I specifically said, “Hell yeah, man. Shit.”), the moment was finally here. Those 15 seconds or so that followed felt like hours. Then the doc spoke…
“It looks like you’re having a girl.”
Me: “Wait, what?”
Doc: “Yup. A girl.”
Me: “WOWWWWWWWWWW!!!! I TOLD YOU!!! I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT HAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!”
Rachel: “Wow. Wow. *exhales deeply* This is insane. We’re really having a girl.”
It was at this moment that my mother-in-law asked what seemed to be an incredulous question. “Are you really sure that they’re having a girl?” My father-in-law responded, naturally, with a sarcastic remark about the doctor not being sure since she doesn’t do this for a living or anything. I stayed quiet, but I was with pops-in-law on this one. But sure enough, she convinced the doc to give our fetus one last look. And sure enough, the lack of confidence in her initial prognosis started to show, which instantly changed the energy in the room, replacing euphoria with an amount of tension normally reserved for a cancer prognosis, a change that I easily felt through the computer.
Doc: “You know, maybe I should get a second opinion on this.”
Rachel: *deep sigh*
Me: “Oh lord…”
Dad-in-law: “I think I just saw a penis!”
Me: “How in the world…..”
Rachel: “I can’t believe this.”
The second doctor came in, and like pops-in-law suspected, we were indeed having a boy, and it was “quite obvious” that it was a boy. So there it was.
I know there’s a strong implication that having a boy disappointed me in that story. I should plainly state that that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was more the giant swing in emotion and genuine anger at the initial doctor that caused my subdued response than anything else. After spending my entire adulthood thinking that having a daughter is a curse, then transitioning to no longer thinking that it would be the worst thing in the world, to actually thinking that I would enjoy it occasionally, I started actively hoping for a little girl. It was more of a novel idea (when I say novel, I would’ve sooner jumped into a snake pit than raise a daughter as recently as 5 months ago) than anything else. I just happened to heavily invest into that novel idea in a short time.
But man, I’m about 20 weeks away from raising a mini version of myself. Rachel has already declared that we’ll dress alike as often as possible, which will ensure our place in Facebook’s most sickening families, and is already proposing terribly inefficient purchases, like an infant leather jacket that will look adorable for the three weeks that he’ll be able to fit into it. There will be a basketball waiting for him upon his exit from the womb. And books. Lots of books. And wait. Is it already Halloween? Holy shit.