A few weeks ago, I asked my doctor if there was any chance that I’d get to have another ultrasound before Lucy’s birth. She said, “It isn’t likely. Your pregnancy is going along wonderfully. We will only do another one if it is medically necessary.”
At my last baby appointment, I asked my doctor to expound upon the phrase “medically necessary.” She talked about “risk” and “problems.” And I said, “So what if my problem is that my husband’s life is at risk if I don’t get another ultrasound to double check the gender of this child?” She laughed. I didn’t.
When we were told that we were having a girl at my 20 week ultrasound, we accepted it as fact. The ultrasound technician said she was certain it was a girl and I saw proof of that with my very own eyes. From that point forward, we called our unborn child by the name we’d chosen should she be a girl: Lucy. We purchased little girl clothes. When people asked what we were having, we said proudly and unwaveringly: “It’s a girl.”
Then, I added Lucy’s name to the growth chart on the wall in her bedroom. With paint. And Dave FREAKED.OUT. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so sure that we were having a girl. He began to ponder the possibility that the ultrasound technician had made a mistake. He expressed concern frequently, claiming I put a jinxy voodoo curse over the whole thing when I painted that name on the wall. Where we used to call our unborn child Lucy, he began to add an “IF it’s a girl.” When people asked what we were having, he’d say: “We think it’s a girl.”
At first, I brushed it off. “I am having a girl,” I’d tell myself. I saw her girl parts on that ultrasound screen with my very own eyes. I AM HAVING A GIRL!
But then, those little whispers of uncertainty would swirl around my head. And when I had to pick out the travel system, I went with a neutral color rather than the brown and pink cherry blossom pattern I loved. I told myself it was just in case we had another child and that child was a boy. I explained to myself that I was thinking ahead when really, I was being hypnotized by Dave’s speculativeness.
I realized I was under his spell of dubiety today when I set out to purchase the outfit my baby will wear home from the hopsital and I chose something gender neutral. Just to be sure.
And so, I made a plan: When I go to the doctor later this week, I’m going to bring up the ultrasound and how I need one. Again. I am going to tell her that I will go batshit crazy insane if I don’t get one to make sure there’s really a girl in there, so I figure we can do one of three things: we can give me an ultrasound, do another ultrasound or have just one more ultrasound.
When I shared this plan with Dave and asked him to back me up at the appointment – because I know he is just as unsure as I am – he said, “I’m not worried so much that it’s a boy. I just think there are two in there.”
Sometimes husbands just shouldn’t speak.