Our ultrasound technician asked, “Do you want to know the gender?” We both awkwardly said “yes” as if it were obvious that there was no way our parents (well, my mother) would let us get away with waiting until the baby was born to find out.
She continued with the anatomy scan and capturing images of organs and other body parts for the radiologist to review later.
A moment later, she offhandedly remarked, “Well, it’s a boy.”
We both looked at the screen a bit more intently.
“I’ll show you later,” she added since at the moment she couldn’t get a shot to show us his kibbles and bits.
Two thoughts went through my head. One, I hope my mother hasn’t bought any dresses yet. To say she wanted a granddaughter would be the understatement of the year.
Secondly, I have a vision in my head of me wearing a Batman t-shirt while holding my son who is donning a Robin onesie.1
I know it’s sounds cliché to say that I didn’t care if the baby was a boy or a girl as long as s/he was healthy. Guess what? It’s a cliché for a reason. I was more excited to hear that everything looked normal in the ultrasound than to find out what we were having. I had dreams and fantasies of the baby being a girl or a boy. It’s was like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Now that we know its a boy, I can skip to page 31 where I have to watch out for projectile pee while changing diapers.
When I called my mother to tell her/console her that we are having a son, she said, “You just wanted a little Superman to put a cape on like you.” I’m not going to lie, the thought has crossed my mind.2
You can read Cindy’s reaction to the news here.
1. I was disappointed to find out there aren’t any good Robin onesies. I may or may not be in the process of designing my own.
2. When I was a little kid, I had these Captain Marvel (Shazam) footie pajamas that had a cape that I wore all the time. I was traumatized when my mother used the cape as a dust rag after I physically outgrew the pajamas. Mentally/emotionally, not so much.