a girl or a gang

Chickens, at this moment, I’m on a plane to my first work trip of 2016 and my first work trip with my new gig.

And I’m going to…

Orlando.

Because why wouldn’t I be, oh home-away-from-home?

Luckily, it’s warm and an easy flight, and so I cannot complain.

Anyway.

On Monday JW and I headed into the city for an appointment, because oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I’m having another baby.

Don’t get mad, you guys. I hate cutesy baby announcements (it’s not you, I’m not judging you, I just have a heart of stone) and I like to keep it private because although I love the kind of attention where you’re all laughing at my jokes, I hate the kind of attention where people feel like it’s time to give me advice and tell me what to do and stare at my stomach.

I hate when people tell me what to do.

And avert your eyes, please.

I’d actually rather go into hiding like it’s the middle ages for the duration of my pregnancy and come back with a baby to show for it.

I know I’m a weirdo.

So yesterday we went in for an ultrasound, and to find out what kind of baby we’d be bringing home in June, and I admit, I was nervous.

We’ve had what amounts to a pack of boys born around here lately, and although I am perfectly happy with the idea of another crazy little man child running around my home, the numbers are mounting, and my friends and I were concerned that one more would mean we had an official gang on our hands.

Worse than the pressure to contain the violence of Chicago was the fact that mostly as a joke, I asked Theo what kind of baby he wanted, a sister or a brother.

He’s not even two. I was sure he had no idea what I was talking about and just wanted me to hand over more goldfish crackers and be quiet so he could hear Elmo singing about his moves.

He looked at me like I was the biggest idiot he’d ever met, and very clearly said, “A sister.”

Shit.

Guessing this was a fluke, I continued to ask him the same question for the next two days, to which he provided the same answer every single time.

At one point he became more specific, letting me know that his sister’s name would be Abby (I assume after his second-favorite Sesame Street character).

At one point I switched it up (I know, I’m very clever) and asked if he was looking for a girl baby or a boy baby to come into our home.

It was then that he decided his mother truly was a moron, and basically rolled his eyes as he said “a girl” and continued smashing things in the living room.

So chickens, I admit, I have finally lost my mind, because as I walked into the ultrasound room, my biggest concern was letting down my toddler and producing the wrong kind of sibling.

It’s hard enough for me to reset expectations when I break the news that we can’t have cookies for dinner, how am I to submit him to a life of living with the wrong kind of baby?

Of course, Baby #2 made us wait as long as possible to figure out what gender it was. The tech told us the baby was “modest” (Let me also lay out for your that this was the same tech who told us that Theo was breech, so when the baby was heads down, she told us so, then screeched “FOR NOW!” and cackled. Gee, thanks), and said that she thought that was a good thing.

Finally, she pointed to a blurry place on the screen, and said, you see this (we nodded, even though you can’t tell what anything is in an ultrasound, you just lie), and then told us that we were, in fact, having a girl.

I sighed in relief.

JW almost fainted, I think.

I’ll let someone else tip the scales in favor of our tribe’s baby gang.

In the meantime, our little girl shows up June 7 (or thereabouts, anyway).

We’re excited to meet our next big adventure!

 

 

 

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