Finding Out the Gender

We know what the gender of our baby will be.

We think.

Let me explain…

I am a reporter by nature, so I like to know everything before anyone else does. Obviously, given a choice, I am going to want to know if it is a boy or a girl. Plus it makes the planning much easier. I admire people who can wait nine months, but it is not me. If I am taking a trip, I want to know the train schedule ahead of time.

Who is worse than me with surprises? My wife. This is a woman who introduced me to the concept of telling people what you want for Christmas. I always assumed everyone tried to surprise their family and friends with a gift that was just right for them. (Although I will admit to at times shopping on Christmas Eve in I-71 gas stations as I traveled north for my family Christmas.) Her family takes all the surprise out by simply saying, “Buy me a Ke$ha CD for Christmas.”

Heck, she even wanted to shop for her own engagement ring. Being the highly romantic guy that I am, I wanted the whole “Will you marry me?” thing to be a surprise.

(By the way, I not only bought the perfect engagement ring myself, but my popping of the question was indeed a grand affair I am quite proud of. Feel free to ask her to tell the story sometime.)

So, between the two of us, there was never any argument as to whether we would find out the gender. But, my wife somehow cooked up a way to learn it even earlier than we planned.

There is a spa-like place in the community of Mason, just outside Cincinnati, that specializes in moms-to-be. Becoming Mom offers maternity clothes, massages, skin care, nail services, the ever popular “waxing,” and, finally, ultrasounds to determine the gender of your child.

A friend of Brooke’s told her about it and from that minute on, she was working me for a visit.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to know before Christmas? What a gift that would be.” Or, “Your mom is coming down in December and it would be great to take her so she can be a part of the experience.”

Yeah, she played the mom card on me.  

While we could wait another month and get this info from the doctor for free, I agreed to pay $70 – we had a coupon. My wife has a coupon for EVERYTHING! – and get it early.

My main concern was that we would get the wrong information. Brooke assured me they would get it right – after all, they guarantee to give you your money back if they are wrong.

Well, of course.

How’s that for a business model? I don’t know what an ultrasound machine costs, but I could buy one, charge parents $100 a pop, guess at the gender and make some dough. Even if I am wrong half the time, it is all profit.

(Forget what I said. As I am writing this, I looked up the price of an ultrasound machine. $135,000 freaking dollars! We wonder why health insurance is so expensive – medical equipment companies, doctors, hospitals – they are all marking things up thousands of percent and lining their pockets.

It would be easier for me to pass myself off as some sort of supernatural belly reader. No upfront investment and all profit. You pay me $100. I rub my hands over your belly and a gender pops into my head. If I am wrong, I give you your money back. If I am right, I am one Ben Franklin richer.)

Despite my concern about accuracy, we forged ahead. We showed up on a Saturday morning -- mom, dad and Sydney -- eagerly anticipating word of whether Sydney would have a little brother or sister.

Now, despite my declaration pre-Sydney that I 51% wanted a boy, this time around I really did not have a preference. My experience with Sydney has been so positive I would happily welcome another daughter into the fold. In fact, I feel a little like “I’ve got this,” when it comes to raising a girl, while a boy would be a whole new world to me. I’m especially worried about whether it would require more energy than an old geezer like me – two months away from my 47^th birthday when the baby is born – has to give. 

At the same time, I like the symmetry of a son. And there are things a son brings to your life that are different from a daughter. Part of me wants to experience those, too.

So, I really, truly had no preference as we passed through the “waxing” department and made our way to the ultrasound room of Becoming Mom.   

The place was nice. They escort you into a little room that is very clean and family friendly. Toys for Sydney, lounge chairs for daddy and a comfortable table for mommy. They dimmed the lights for a calming effect. It felt warm.

It did not calm Sydney, however, as she roamed around the room Gangnam Style while the technician lubed up her mother’s belly in preparation. In fact, the whole time the supernatural belly reader, I mean, ultrasound technician, was rubbing the magic wand over mom’s belly, daddy was chasing Sydney around the room, trying to get her to stay away from breakable items.

In the middle of my quest, we heard the heartbeat. Always a nice moment, even if Sydney was babbling over it. 

A few minutes later, the technician pointed to a tiny spot on the screen and said we were having…

A boy.

Yes.

A boy.

Now, this is where the “we think” part comes in. To be completely assured I am having a boy, I would have to wholeheartedly trust that this ultrasound technician is indeed an ultrasound technician – I didn’t see any license hanging on the wall – and that she really knows what she is doing. That little spot she pointed to was not distinguishable to me. These ultrasounds are all Rorschach blots to me. That spot could have been an elbow or a nose and I would not have been able to tell the difference.

Plus, I have a Fantasy Football team called the Big Anacondas after a nickname I have acquired over the years. So I was expecting the “spot” to be a bit larger than it was.

Ok, maybe it is a self-given nickname.

My wife, however, was sure. She said she knew before the technician knew.

I trust my wife more than I trust the technician. She had a gut feeling going in that it was a boy. She accurately predicted a girl with Sydney. She is the real-life supernatural belly reader.

So, I am having a boy. The perfect family gets more perfect.

I am one lucky man. I get to experience the joy of bringing up both a son and a daughter. I am blessed beyond anything I ever expected in my life.

Am I worried? Sure. There are more sleepless nights ahead. I have no idea how I will afford the bigger house. When it’s time to teach him how to turn the double play or post someone up under the basket or throw the perfect spiral, I’ll be in my late 50s, with a bad back and creaky knees.

But I now will have two children who give me a reason to get up in the morning. I’ll have laughter echoing through my home. I’ll have tea parties to attend and football games to watch. I’ll have double the hugs and kisses.

Being a dad has been the greatest experience of my life. Now, I get the pleasure of doing it again.

I can’t wait to meet my son.

This is Going to be as Painful as a Root Canal

We have hit another baby milestone and this is not going to be pleasant.

Most milestones are positive. They are things you celebrate. The first tooth. The first words. The first steps.

I couldn’t have been prouder when I got Sydney to do her first high-five.

We’ve sailed past most of them without a mention in this blog. Sydney has about eight teeth at this point. Honestly, I stopped counting. I still get nervous that she is going to choke to death on my watch, but I think she has enough choppers to chew her way to survival.

Verbally, she is ahead of the game. She repeats just about any word you emphasize for her and she recognizes familiar things and calls them by their name. She can’t say her own name – she actually thinks her name is “baby” and says that every time she sees a picture of herself. I guess that is better than monkey, which someone I know recently said her newborn now answers to.

I also don’t think she can make the “s” sound for Sydney. In fact, some of her words come out funny because she can’t make the sound. She can pronounce happy or apple, but chicka – her favorite toy – comes out ca-ca. Still, she syas a lot more words than others her age.

As far as motor skills go, she is behind. She is walking, but she toddles around like a drunken college student. She is unsteady on her legs and probably falls down about every five steps. I have never seen anyone hit their head so many times without getting a concussion. She could teach NFL players something. She definitely inherited her mother’s hard noggin.

Those were milestones we happily awaited. Now we are dealing with one I dread.  

We are probably starting late on this, but we are going to do away with the bottle. The doctor scared us the other day by saying Sydney “will need a root canal” if she keeps drinking from a bottle.

What kind of doctor tries to scare you like that? As new parents, we are compliant as overmedicated puppies. You tell us what is best for our child, we are all over it. No need to terrify.

I don’t think this is going to be an issue, except at night. As regular readers of this blog know, my daughter does not sleep through the night. She is up at least once, and often twice, every night. This has been going on for 15 months.

Sigh. 

Please spare the advice. More than once we have let her “cry it out.” Two hours or more later, she is still crying and not sleeping. She rants and raves like Donald Trump discussing the “birther” issue. We have found it much easier to give her a bottle; she is back asleep in 15 minutes. That means we are back to sleep in 20.

Getting her to drink from only sippy cups during the day should be easier; she already does this several times a day. But my nights are about to get even more frightful.

She falls asleep every night drinking her bottle and then has one or two more by morning. For months, we have been cutting her night-time milk with water. She gets a 50-50 mixture. (Imagine how that tastes.) So, I am convinced it is not the milk she needs. I think she likes the soothing nature of the bottle and it helps her go to sleep.

Of course, she did wake up the other night screaming “Milk!,” so I could be wrong.

I’m wrong about a lot of things when it comes to parenting. I incorrectly predicted she could sit in the middle of a bed without somehow rolling three feet and bouncing off. I was wrong that my child would somehow like me more than her mother. And I was certainly wrong about not draining the tub after every bath.

So maybe she does need the milk to get her through the night. Hell, I would like a steak sandwich to get me through the night. But just as daddy goes sandwich-less, Sydney is going to have to give up her milk.

We are going to do this on the weekend, so when we only get two hours of sleep, it will not impact the next day's work performance. 

Like I said, it is a milestone I am not looking forward to. I predict a lot less sleep in my future. But root canals are not good for kids, so it needs to happen.