Yesterday Mike and I went to my ultrasound appointment. Here’s one thing I learned, if the radiologist asks you if you need to use the bathroom, just say yes. Don’t try to be the Olympic Gold Medal Anti-Pee Champion, say, “I’m good! I don’t need to pee!” because some time during the ultrasound, she’ll stop you and say, “I think you should use the restroom because your bladder is full,” which translates to, “I JUST SCANNED YOUR ORGANS YOU LYING LIAR.”
So she measured the baby’s heart, head, and legs. The screen flickered with a black and white baby swirling and turning in my small womb confines. I watched this baby squirm and flail, like I had just washed down a trough of pop rocks with diet coke. Just so you know, I only take Vitamin Enhanced Pop Rocks. For my health!
But once he settled down, she clicked and the machine beeped. She said, “You already have a three-year-old son? Well, he’s going to have a brother.”
Mike was so shocked because he was certain that we were going to have a girl. I just squealed while tears streamed down because BOYS? Boys love their mothers and walk up a whole flight of stairs just to say they hurt their foot and need it to be kissed. The boy I have takes me face into his hands and says, “Mom I kiss you on the MOUF!”
I know I’ve gone on about girls, and how much I’m afraid of a raising a princess and how I utterly detest Juicy Couture and I don’t know anything about make-up or hair. Now I just have to deal with two boys vandalizing my house and then both wanting to snuggle.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the ultrasound screen as I watched my little boy turn and toss, his hands floating about him. I asked at one point, “Is that his face?”
“No,” the radiologist answered. “That’s his butt.” And you know what?
I LOVE THIS BOY AND HIS NOT-BUTTFACE.