Incredulous Tip #3: It’s ok to not cry…unless you want to, and that’s perfectly ok too.

Well, what do you know.  The dreadful sickness does pass.  It’s funny how promptly it’s forgotten too.

The wretched days of sickness are over, and a new dawn rises as I etch “Dr. Fouts” into my work calendar for a day in April with colored ink, outlining that with a different color of ink, then highlighting that – I end by adding a few school-girl squigglies and twirly-whirlies until the little date block is lit up like a hideous Christmas tree.  I can’t wait for this appointment, because I find out if it’s a little Andy in there…or a little Jenny.  Although, I only occasionally still refer to Baby as such now – we start to try other names on for size.  Mostly girl names.  Don’t ask me why, because I always instinctually knew it was a little boy in there, but girl names are way more fun (in my opinion), and boy names are…blah.

Anyways, the harder I pray for the date to arrive soon, the slower the time seeps on until I can’t stand it!  There is no end to the agony when you have to wait to know something big.  There are those couples who smile winningly as they proudly announce, “We’re waiting to find out.  We want to be surprised.”  I won’t judge (eye roll).  To me, this bit of information is the biggest, juiciest piece of gossip there is and I’ll be the first to know.  Well, Nick’ll be there too…  It’s like stumbling upon a certified document crumpled and torn on a stroll through the park that states Jay-Z and Beyonce are (ghasp!) first cousins!  Ok, perhaps it’s not like that, but that’s how imagine it will be.

The golden day arrives.  We wait patiently to be called in.  How will I react?  I wonder.  I should probably cry.  I might.  It’ll be emotional.  My nerves are surprisingly calm as I lay back onto the bed and the tech squirts the warm goop all over my belly.  It’s dim in the room…and really quiet.  The tech is deft and to-the-point, which I like.  She speaks softly as the monitor springs to life with kaleidoscope visions I can’t make sense of, the little wand-y thing moving over my abdomen.  I try to determine myself what I’m seeing, until she tells me what I thought was the top of Baby’s head is actually the butt.  Oh well.

“Do you want to know the sex?”  She says.

“Yes.” I can’t help but grin.

A few more movements and the butt I thought was a head appears on the screen.  “There’s the legs, and bottom, and there between is the penis.  It’s a boy.”

I smile and say, “I knew it”, but otherwise have no reaction as I continue to just stare at the screen.  I don’t know what it is.  Perhaps it’s that she only stated the obvious to me.  Perhaps it was the extreme quiet in the room muffling any reaction I should have had, but I feel…meh.  I’m happy, don’t get me wrong.  But the tears don’t flow.

Nick, on the other hand, gets teary-eyed and starts rubbing me and patting me like he’s basting a Thanksgiving turkey in spice butter.  He keeps kissing me.  I’m slightly mortified at the PDA, and try to politely swat away his blissful attempts to cuddle me in front of  a complete stranger without hurting his feelings.  He’s so darn cute though, it’s hard to do.  I just keep smiling and staring at the screen.

The coolest part is when she snaps a picture of Baby’s sweet face.  There’s one where you can see his creepy-looking little iris staring at you.  Another where he appears to have empty eye sockets.  Immediately I think he looks like Jack Skellington from Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas.  Don’t be alarmed.  I’m thrilled.  I love Jack Skellington, and from that moment he ceases to be little Andy or Jenny, and starts to be my little Jack Skellington.  I even have a Disney Vinylmation that looks just like him sitting on my desk at home.

Sometimes our media driven culture puts pressure on women – how we should look, behave, react.  I feel no guilt that I didn’t weep with joy, or start making out with Nick in a fit of giggles, it doesn’t matter. The ultrasound, for me anyways, is when I feel the first little tingling of love.  I have always loved little Jack Skellington, but until this moment I don’t realize how much.  With each wave of the ultrasound wand I say hello to my little creepy baby boy, and he’s perfect.  Screw the reaction I should have according to Danny on Full House…I love Baby and that’s all that matters.

Nick and I have lunch, call relatives (I feel I may be giving the wrong in impression of my really sweet, loving mother, so I won’t tell you how she wasn’t that excited when we called because she had previously announced that she hoped it was a girl), and we head home in separate cars since we’d met at the appointment.  As I’m driving home, I kid you not, for the first time I feel a faint little nudge, and a flutter of excitement nearly chokes me.  Is that?…nah….  I think.

I sit at a red light at the corner of Clinton and Lima and….there it is again.  A little nudge that can’t be denied.  I smile like a goon to myself as my little boy seems to say, “Hi.”


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