It's a...

…Baby. A baby with arms and legs and a spine and a beating heart and some kidneys. A baby who managed to remain artfully folded against the best gender-seeking efforts of two ultrasound technicians.

Hiding from the paparazzi

When we were pregnant with Ezra, I toyed with the idea of waiting to find out the gender, but Sandy was certain he wanted to know, and I agreed pretty quickly. I loved knowing. Loved planning his room and thinking about his name and buying him clothes. Loved not having to wonder if it was a girl or boy when he was born, and just pulling him close.

But there’s part of me that’s a little excited about doing it a different way this time. I remember being a little jealous of our friends who didn’t know in advance, and their stories of finding out this special secret at the moment of birth.

Of course there are still ways we might find out. Who knows if we’ll need another ultrasound for some medical reason, or if we’ll succumb to the siren song of a cheap, but somehow creepy-to-me, private 3D ultrasound.

For now, Rummicub remains a fetus without a pronoun, his or her parents remain responsible for deciding two sets of names, our friends’ girly hand-me-downs remain in storage, and the mohel’s number remains on speed dial, just in case.

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