Tomorrow, I head back to the doctor for an important scan. The last one told us that the baby is looking healthy and isn’t showing any signs of developmental issues or birth defects. This time, we’re going to find out if I’m growing a little Mason or a little Harley.
It’s an odd situation to be in, hoping that the munchkin spreads its legs and shows us what’s there (some babies are very shy on the scans). After that point, I won’t have to do the him/her thing anymore but can embrace which ever name and sex the kid is going to have. It’s yet another step towards making it real – to actually be able to refer to him or her by name, to start thinking of the alien I’m growing as an actual being.
It’s funny, friends and family have asked me what I think I’m having, and if I care whether it’s a boy or a girl. I’ll be happy with either, to which the response is usually “ten fingers and ten toes”. It’s such an odd expression. I mean, I’d still love the kid if he or she ends up having 11 toes, and I think the digit count is sort of less important than making sure that the rest of the organs have developed properly. But yeah, ten fingers and ten toes, and hopefully the absence of any hereditary ailments.
As for if I have a feeling… I’m not sure. A while back, I kept thinking that it was a boy, but then I had two dreams where the baby was born and was a girl. I woke up wondering if she was trying to tell me something. Now, I’m back on the fence, totally unsure. I have the odd moments when I imagine the kid in my arms, and usually it’s a boy, but sometimes it’s a girl.
All the guessing and imagining will be a moot point soon enough. Tomorrow he or she will hopefully open up and show us what’s there. And then I can start a whole new phase of day dreaming about what the little munchkin will be like. With or without ten fingers, with or without ten toes, with or without a penis, this little peanut is going to change my life. Forever.