Me!!! Well, actually, it's both Bill and I because our littlest one is healthy, growing, and getting ready to meet the world in less than 5 months! But we had a little bet - minus wagers - about what the gender of this fantastic baby human is. Bill thought this whole time that he was "cursed" with girls, like another family we know. Neither of us would have minded that at all since we have pink bedding, pretty dresses, and froo froo galore. I, on the other hand, had an instinct that we were having a baby boy because I thought that with my "luck" (though I don't really believe in luck) blended with Murphy's Law (we had the pink bedding, the pretty dresses, and froo froo galore) and gender econmics (three females to one male, unless you include our cat Othello) we would likely have a boy. And now we know!
When the radiologist (Jennifer) was moving the wand around she commented several times that our baby was a "wiggly one". I've known that to be true from the first frog-like squirming I could feel. In fact, Bill has felt baby move often, lately, and the movements have been getting increasingly stronger and more frequent. It's been fun to put my hand over my tummy and just know that our baby is healthy and strong. When Jennifer said, "Do you want to know what you're having?" I was probably the more emphatic of the two of us when I said, "Yes, please!" So she moved the wand into position and said, "It looks like you're having a boy."
I squealed, of course, and sent Bill a triumphant "Ha ha!" grin but then it suddenly hit me: I don't know how to raise a boy. Pink is my favorite color. I was the family girly girl with ruffled shirts, pink nail polish, and wearing low-heeled pumps with jeans. I have a picture of myself in a pink sweater over an ivory camisole, deep blue pleated denim jeans, and dangly mother-of-pearl and filgree earrings. Did I mention my favorite color is pink?
I know how to sing, play piano, and figureskate; paint, draw, and write; decorate, cook, and bake. I never did master any athletic skills like softball, soccer, or spitting. There are no trucks in a sandbox in our backyard. There isn't a vast collection of baseball bats, mits, jerseys, or helmets in our garage. When does one buy a jock-strap for a son and for what purpose? I don't know how to do this!
But I will learn how to be a mother to our son. I will be more empathetic towards Bill and his efforts in being a father to our daughters since this must be how he felt. And I will let myself get coached by other seasoned moms of boys like my pastor's wife, church friends, and family members. And I'll ask God often how He raised His Son. And I think I'll get it figured out.