Shoved to Them
We find out the baby’s sex a week from today. I don’t care. I genuinely don’t, which is very strange for me. Usually at this point of pregnancy I am a lunatic waiting to find out pink or blue. People keep saying, “You want a girl so your numbers are even, 3 boys and 3 girls, right?” I shrug my shoulders and say, “eh.”
This puts me right up there for Mother of the Year, I just know it. Absolutely no curiosity about our sweet #6. I don’t wonder about eye color or hair color. I do hope it has my nose, mine is much cuter than the Computer Guy’s German one, but I don’t need to know if he/she does.
Pregnancy has become routine for me. I’ve done it so many times that I keep looking for the new. No matter how exciting the end is, it’s hard to get excited about a routine. It’s also hard to explain indifference and not sound as if I’m heartless. I want the ultrasound guy to tell us the baby is healthy. I do care about that. I just don’t give a fig for the rest of it.
Our baby will come in August, and we will adore him or her. I have no doubt about that because the little booger is already well loved. We will count fingers and toes and look to see if the “plumbing” is indoor (girl) or outdoor (boy). We will snuggle and coo and think that that first cry is one of the greatest things we ever heard.
I know these things will be true. It’s just a little routine now. I said to the Computer Guy and the Little Kids, “Let’s change things up and be surprised this time. Wouldn’t it be fun to be surprised?” #1 looked at me raised an eyebrow and replied, “I’m not sure that all the crack you’re smoking is good for the baby.”
I’ll take that as a no, and where did that sarcasm come from? She must get it from her father.
Monday. Boy or Girl. I’m taking bets now.
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