So, it's official. I do not know the sex of the baby growing inside of me. (My sister's annoyed guffaw can currently be heard throughout the lands.)
We had a wonderful Christmas, full of surprise gifts and Liam squeals. Visited with family, drove the 99, then folded ourselves into clean sheets. The next day was THE DAY. Ultrasound day. Turns out, David was scheduled to work, so I had to go it alone. We decided awhile back to let nature run its course and not find out the gender. So, in a sense, it was better that Daddy not go — sometimes the nursing skills can trump the daddy skills.
The technician seemed pleasantly surprised with my revelation, and I hoped she'd be able to keep the pronouns in check throughout the scan, which she did beautifully. She told me to close my eyes at one point. Baby G flashed me the peace sign once and kept doing somersaults. I saw two tiny feet tilted together, toes intermingling. It's an amazing thing, seeing your baby move around in there. People have asked whether I have "mother's intuition" about the gender. I had an inkling with Liam and I have one with Baby G. But since we're playing surprise party, I'll keep that one just for me. Maybe there could be an office pool.