A 70% princess

A few weeks ago, my husband and I got to see our baby in all the beautiful glory that a tiny, black-and-white ultrasound screen can provide. Naturally, we believe our baby’s yawns, kicks and waves during the procedure were just about the cutest things any baby has ever done in the history of the world.

Besides getting to see our child actually looking like a baby – previous ultrasounds had shown us a dot and a tadpole, respectively – we were thrilled that we’d finally get to know our baby’s gender. I know lots of couples relish the thought of waiting until their child’s birth to find out whether to decorate in pink or blue, but we are not one of those couples. I’ve been known to start pestering my husband to hand over my birthday presents in mid-July. My birthday is in mid-August. Waiting for surprises just isn’t in my blood.

That’s why it was a little deflating to hear the ultrasound technician say, “Hmm … well … umm … I think it’s a girl. … I’m 70 percent sure. But, if you buy any girl clothes, keep the receipt.”

Sigh.

I’d been expecting a “girl” verdict, mostly because of the many dreams I’ve had in which our baby was a girl. (Never mind the one where the baby was a hamster.) My mom also tried an old-wives-tale needle trick to predict the baby’s gender, and came up with a prediction that my first child would be a girl and the second a boy, so there you go.

Because our instincts tell us we’re having a girl and the ultrasound technician told us we might be having a girl, we’ve decided to start calling her by our preferred girl name, which is Kaylee Jane.

We talk to her regularly, and I’ve already gotten some practice speaking in my stern-mom voice: “Kaylee Jane, stop kicking mommy in the bladder!” (And she’s gotten some practice ignoring her mother’s commands.)

I just hope that after months of being called “she” while in the womb, our baby won’t be scarred forever if it happens to be a boy. Really though, I doubt that’ll do much damage. The real emotional trauma will come when he’s a teenager and I show his girlfriends a photo of him dressed in the cute pink tank top and tennis skirt I’ve already bought him. He’ll never live that one down.