Honestly, I wasn’t really all that surprised when the ultrasound revealed that we were on Team Blue again. And despite how gung-ho I was for a girl this time around, I really wasn’t as disappointed as I thought I would be.
In the end, you get what you get. It’s luck of the draw. And I am happy that we are getting another baby, regardless of the sex.
Much to my surprise, a few of the people in my life made comments assuming that I was taking the news of another boy pretty hard.
Someone even went as far as asking if we were going to keep the baby.
I know. My jaw dropped too.
To say I wasn’t expecting to hear that would be an understatement. The comment took such nerve, or such stupidity, that it completely threw me off guard. I thought that it should have been obvious -- the news that we had another healthy, 10 ounce baby growing right on schedule kind of overshadowed any bad feelings I could ever have about not getting a girl.
But I guess some people were expecting me to have a total crazy lady meltdown.
Contrary to popular belief, I am excited and happy.
Over the moon to be expecting this new little guy.
But my imaginary therapist would probably argue that I should take a few minutes to whine about not getting my dos equis. Just to get it out of my system.
Because it is a little annoying that almost everyone I can think of who is pregnant right now is getting pink.
Don’t roll your eyes. I know how stupid gender disappointment is. And I swear, once I finish writing this hissy fit of a post, I’ll be over it.
The only reason I am even the teensiest bit jealous is because everyone convinced me that this time around, we’d for sure be getting some sugar, spice and everything nice.
I was almost certain of it myself. I bought a pink onesie right after I got the positive HPT and I swore that the universe was sending me all kinds of signs that we were getting a girl this time around.
But here we go again with more snails and puppy dog tails.
Seriously. Three boys.
I’m starting to think that my husband only has Y swimmers.
Basic biology would argue that fact. I googled the subject and it turns out that all men make an equal amount of both. In case you are as curious as I was, here is a diagram showing how sperm is produced:
But I have proof otherwise.
I may be a little bummed that we won’t be buying dresses and hair bows (again!) and I may have also fantasized once or twice about finding out in the delivery room that the ultrasound reveal was wrong.
But, that’s about as far as my disappointment goes.
Ultimately, I know that the dresses and bows aren’t really important.
And I know that when I meet him and see how healthy and beautiful he is, it won’t matter anymore.
When I see him on the ultrasound screen or feel him kick now, I know it doesn’t matter.
Because I already love him.