So, Evan and I have decided that we want to wait until the birth of our child to know the sex. So far, empirical evidence has proven to me that if you say this to anyone these days you get a 30 second blank stare followed by a “Why would you do that? I could never do that.” You actually can. Once upon a time you wouldn’t have had a choice.
Luckily, these days we have the technology we do because it’s become “impossible” for some people to even wait the 15 (or whatever it is) weeks that it usually takes. There are some wonderful benefits to finding out the sex of a baby early. You can pick out appropriate names, go all crazy on a pink or blue wardrobe before your child is even big enough to not drown in something the size of a teacup (if it weren’t already floating around in the fluids of your uterus), you can begin decorating a nursery according to the same afore-mentioned “appropriate” sex-associated hues, you can also tell everyone else so they can begin color-coordinating their baby shower gifts.
We know we are in the minority on this decision, and we’ve come to terms with the fact that we’ll probably have to remind the doctor before every visit just so he doesn’t end up letting this precious piece of information slip out of sheer habit. And this is the most precious piece of information I could ever imagine hearing. I am just like every other expectant mother there ever was: Yes, I AM dying to know! If I found out what I was having right now I would be ecstatic no matter what it was…so then what does it matter if I find out now or 5 months from now? Whether a onesie is blue or pink or white or yellow is such an insignificant concept to me right now in the whole scheme of this wonderful experience. Besides, it’ll end up with vomit all over it eventually anyway. As for a nursery, Disney will do just fine. A little red, a little yellow and a lot of Mickey could make anyone happy – boy, girl and especially my husband.