It’s sitting on our cluttered dining table in a glossy white folder from the clinic, held securely in a sticky-taped envelope marked “gender”. The result is from our 19 week scan and sits there unread, waiting for one of us to open it. Two weeks ago this wasn’t going to happen. Two weeks ago it was plain, simple common sense; “Of course we are finding out the sex – who needs surprises now” was our mantra. This was our attitude the whole way along up until the night before our scan when my wife quite innocently wanted to check that we really wanted to find out the sex. It was then that we both decided that, for now anyway, we’d keep a little bit of the mystery going.
Our first pregnancy (I say our first loosely as we weren’t sick everyday for three months, we didn’t get progressively larger and more uncomfortable and we didn’t have to push the proverbial watermelon through the eye of the needle – pregnancy was definitely designed by guys!) was a series of momentous occasions. The first two pink lines, first scan, first (of hundreds – not that I am complaining) slices of toast for dinner and first kicks but this second pregnancy seems to have been lost in the general haze of life. A toddler already in the family, moving and selling houses and work have meant that there just hasn’t been time to have the hallmark moment where I stare adoringly at my wife’s swollen belly. Instead there’s been brief moments that seem to fall in and around everything else that is going on where we both remember that another little illiterate infant is making it way slowly into our world.
So back to the logical case for finding out the sex. In short, it makes sense. We get to know whether we can re-use the half truckload of clothes we have vacuum bagged in our meager storage space, I get time to start learning to fish and tie a good knot (broad gender stereotype number one) or get to prepared for an easy 10 years before life gets very complicated (and there’s number two). We can start educating little miss 2.5 about having a little brother or sister and getting her a little more emotionally engaged. Then there’s the obvious plus of halving the baby names we need to sort through and simplifying bedroom colour pallets (anyone who knows the 6 weeks we’ve just had knows that I am joking about this one!)
So what happened? Where did my usual logical self go? Well it seems that this logical self already has a soft spot for the little person that is currently growing inside my wife’s slowly expanding tummy. And this soft spot thinks that it wasn’t really fair to fit the news of it having a John Thomas (or not) between meetings with real estate agents, painters and unpacking boxes. Luckily, my wife discovered the same soft spot which got us to this point, with a securely sticky-taped envelope marked “gender”.
So, here we are. Excited but unaware. We’ll probably look at the envelope but in our own time, when we’re ready. What did you do? Did you find out? Did logic win or do you like surprises?
Always happy to be sharing with with Diary of a SAHM for IBOT.
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