Over the next 12 hours, I agonized over the decision. I IM’d The Husband all morning before I left for the appointment, going back and forth. Deep down I knew I wanted to wait. I wanted that ultimate surprise. I had been dreaming about it for as long as I have imagined having babies. And when we talked about having children, The Husband agreed. But of course, once dreams became a reality, his thought process changed. He would sprinkle the conversation with, “I don’t think it would be bad to find out,” or “If we know, then we only have one set of names to pick through.” And let’s not leave out his habit of calling the baby “He”.
So when the doctor looked at us and asked if we wanted to know, I looked at my husband and time froze. My mind shot forward four and a half months to the delivery, the baby emerging, the midwife laying the baby in my arms and saying, “It’s a girl,” and I turned to The Husband and his face fell slightly. I could not let him go through the whole pregnancy thinking this baby is a boy only to be possibly upset if he was wrong.
Back in the present, I made a personal sacrifice for my husband. I looked back at the doctor and said, “Yes, we want to know.” I was half-tempted to close my eyes and ears as he searched my abdomen to find where that portion of the baby resided.
And wouldn’t you know, The Husband was right.