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Subtitle: And Why I Don’t Care To Know What You Think It Is

 

I’m sure it’s the same for every woman on the planet, but I always get two questions when someone finds out I’m pregnant:

Q:

1. When are you due?
2. What are you having?

A:

1. None of your beeswax.
2. None of your beeswax, butthole.  

 

loljk, April 29, and we don’t know.

By choice. We’re not finding out by choice. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve told that we don’t want to find out who have responded with “Well, I think you’re having a _____.” 

 

 

Actual conversation at work with a woman I’d never met:

Woman: Oh, you’re pregnant! What are you having?

Me: I don’t know, we’re not finding out.

Woman: Well I have a gift for guessing gender. Would you like to know what you’re having?

Me: No. We don’t want to find out.

Woman: Well… let me see your belly. Hmm… are you having any cravings?

Me: No.

Woman: Do you prefer apples or oranges?

Me:

 

I mean, really. Keep your uneducated opinions to yourselves. I don’t know why this annoys me so much. Mostly, I think, because I want everyone in the world to be wrong.

But also… if we wanted to know… we would find out. 

 

 

There’s only one person in the world who gets a pass on this, and that’s my mother in law, because she’s practically perfect in every way and has told us we’re having a boy and a girl, and there’s only one baby in there.

We know we’re having a human and we’re fairly certain it’s my husband’s. That’s all we need to know right now.

 

You know who loves the paternity joke? All men.

You know who hates having their own paternity jokingly questioned? All men. Ironic.

p.s. It’s Greg’s… pending…

 

Mixed reviews on the subject of finding out gender

On one hand people say they had an easier time connecting to their fetus knowing its sex in advance. On the other hand people say that promise of finding out is what got them through the final throes of labor, like an extra present at Christmas.

At our anatomy ultrasound we closed our eyes when the rad tech looked at gender, but we asked her to seal the results in an envelope just in case we changed our minds, but also so I could potentially prove ultrasound wrong in the end. Our elf, Cake, is manning it on the tree we have no plans of taking down, and if he’s looked he hasn’t told.

 

 

So why don’t we want to find out?

Because it’s our baby and we do what we want. But in no particular order:

 

*It’s common practice to find out, which is an immediate turn off. Maybe that’s why I get so annoyed. Because even if we don’t want to know, plenty of people are willing to give their opinions because they can’t stand not knowing. Chill, bruh.

 

*I plan on a huge gender reveal party in the delivery room, complete with confetti cannons and gunshots. Hell, maybe a real cannon.

 

*We are not instant gratifiers. Hence our 12- and 13- year old vehicles, holey clothes, and impressive savings rate.

 

*We are actively avoiding buying any new items for this baby, including gender-specific clothing. That said, we’ll take any and all hand-me-downs and pass them on if we can’t use or don’t need them.

 

*Seeing as we’re effectively homeless, we aren’t worried about decorating some gender-specific nursery. Not that I would do that even if we knew sex and had a home. It’d be all elephants and grizzlies and Ranger Rick. You will love animals, kid.

 

*I like not knowing. I like calling it ‘Baby Baby Baby’ (almost accusingly) and asking it what it is on a daily basis. Also, what it’s doing, if it’s my baby, if it has hair and/or ten toes, and if it will be a good baby or a naughty baby. One kick for good, two kicks for naughty. Fifty kicks for the greatest human who ever lived.

 

*Neither of us have had any issues connecting to this baby. I’ve had my own mental issues about this pregnancy, sure, but I know how I feel about my nieces and nephews. When my nephew Jack was born I wanted to cut him up into tiny pieces and eat him. I wanted to cut my belly open and shove him inside and sew myself back up so we’d never be apart. So… I have no doubts about my ability to love and cherish (and hopefully not eat or otherwise maim) our combined flesh and blood. But I’ll admit it was especially easy after seeing our babe’s sweet face on ultrasound. I think it looks just like my Gregory, so it’s going to be pretty damn cute either way.

 

*Nowadays everything about pregnancy and childbirth seems so medical, when really, it’s like, the most natural thing on the planet. Right up there with eating and drinking and procreating. Seeing as how my pregnancy is a geriatric one, I’m not willing to risk forgoing regular checkups or ultrasounds, but I like having this little un-medical mystery in my womb.

 

*Ultrasounds aren’t always right. I’d hate to have my thoughts and dreams leaning one way only to be shocked in the delivery room. I don’t think I’d handle that well. That’s like being promised Red Lobster, only to get Long John Silver’s out of the deal. Wait, other way around. Mmmm… crumbs…

 

*We’re not set on a name for either boy or girl. We have a list for both, thanks to some of our nieces’ and nephews’ suggestions. Highlights include: Ariel, Belle, Rapunzel, Christmas, Rizzo, Dak, Bev, and “hear me out”… Tsunami. I mean Tsunami could go either way, so… we’re good. 

 

*And finally, this is the only time in our lives we won’t know the sex of this baby. We can wait.

 

 

 

What about you? Did you wait until delivery to find out? Why or why not?

p.s. If you comment what you think I’m going to have, I will disown you. Dickhead.