So, as you've probably gathered by now, I done went and got knocked up. I will be 23 weeks tomorrow and am due May 11th. Everything is going very well. I haven't been sick or feeling weird or anything. Yeah, there seems to be an odd sort of tumor growing in my stomach area and I routinely feel like Sigourney Weaver, but everything else is business as usual (minus the startling lack of Riesling in my bloodstream... don't even get me started on that).
Last Thursday, Husband and I went to my "anatomy scan". This appointment includes an ultrasound that is used to measure all the important junk... make sure the kid has the correct number of limbs, functioning heart and brain, etc. That is the real reason for the ultrasound. However, most people see it as "the appointment where I'll get to find out if trucks or tiaras will be taking over my house in a few years".
Husband and I were completely convinced that this was a boy pretty much since that second unholy line appeared. I've always wanted a girl. I was raised with a sister and know jackshit about little boys. Then there's Husband... who was raised with a brother and knows as much about little girls as I know about the male version. But, as most of us (with the exception of Henry VIII) know, sex is determined by the male's side. Husband has a brother. His father has two brothers. The brother with biological children has a son. And so on and so on. That pesky Y chromosome runs roughshod over Husband's family and has for quite a few generations. So, there was no second thought about it. We'd be having a son. I had wrapped my mind around raising a little boy and actually got excited about it. We were hoping that the ultrasound tech at my anatomy scan would tell us that all was well in Uterusville, but we were sure that she'd just be confirming what we already knew... that there's currently a weiner (I love that word... I'm 12) growing in my abdomen.
And, we couldn't have been more wrong. After going through all the vital parts and confirming that everything was "textbook perfect" (praise baby Jesus), it was time for us to find out the sex. As we look at the monitor, the ultrasound tech said "Say hello to Daddy's Little... Girl".
THE FUCK?!?!?!? (I should probably learn to clean up my mouth... huh? Eh, the kid needs to learn to swear somewhere. And Lord knows I don't want her learning it on the street!)
So it look like, come May, we'll be welcoming a little Rory!
And once again, she better hope she's a reader. She's screeeewed if she loves math and sports. Husband and I are basically math illiterate and barely know what sport the Superbowl is comprised of. If that's the case, good luck little chica!