So this is a pretty big week for us. It’s time for Caroline’s anatomy ultrasound. Which is really good news, if you ask me. I’m one who likes to find out the gender. You know, it’s funny. When Caroline got pregnant last time, I was adamant that we NOT find out the gender. But once we learned she was carrying triplets, we figured we were pretty good on surprises. At that point, we decided that the more we knew about our uncertain and chaotic future, the better.
So we opted to learn the sexes and were thrilled at the BBG combo we were given. Once we found out the gender for the triplets, it only seemed natural to go ahead and find out the gender of this child, right? I mean, after all, s/he was quite a surprise to begin with. No need to make a mystery out of the gender.
Yet a mystery is what it, indeed, has become.
Did I mention that Caroline has become a touch indecisive this pregnancy? Regardless, it warrants mentioning again. See, as we entered the week, it was a given that we were going to find the gender. But on Monday night, Caroline casually mentioned something before going to bed. “You know, I don’t think we should find out the gender after all.”
“What? I thought you wanted to get all organized.”
“What’s to organize? We have two boys and two girls. Plenty of clothes either way.”
“Sure, but I thought you wanted to get cranking on sleeping arrangements and to figure that out, I thought you wanted to know the gender?”
“Yeah, but not so much now,” she said. “I mean, since there’s just one, I was thinking that the baby could sleep in our room for the first several months. Sharing a room with a sibling is pretty far down the road.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to find out?”
“No. I’m not sure.” Imagine that. “But I’m leaning that way.”
So here’s the deal, folks. I do have my heart set on finding out. BUT, I’m not as hell-bent as I might have thought. Look, this ain’t our first rodeo. It’s our fifth. And as such, I’ve noticed that we’re a little more go-with-the-flow this time around than ever before.
And one thing I’m a staunch proponent of is this: it’s Caroline’s pregnancy. Sure, I have some input, but I’m not the one sacrificing my body for 9 months and turning into a hormone-fueled… well, never mind what it is I’m not turning into. Suffice it to say that I’m not the one making the ultimate sacrifice in carrying this child.
She is. And as such, she’s the one at the wheel. She gets to call the shots. And whether or not we find out the gender is up to her.
But is it too much to ask for her to tell me?! I’ve asked every night this week. And she’s still not decided. Our appointment is in 2-1/2 hours, my friends. And at the end of it, I’ll either know the gender or I wont.
And at this point, that’s as much of a mystery as the actual gender, itself. And you know what?
I kinda like it.