Which made me depressed. To say otherwise wouldn't be honest. I wanted a girl. It made me sad to know that tutus aren't in my immediate future (you do what you want when you're older, dude. No judgement.) Then, as if being disappointed about that wasn't enough, I was disappointed in myself for being disappointed. Ungrateful. Bad mama. Sad. Tears. Then we told G and he just kept saying, "I want a tister." Then I kept telling Ben that we would be alone for ever for all holidays and that the deal is now sealed... I'm guaranteed to be a crazy MIL.
But... I think I've made it to the other side. To say I didn't google "can a 16 week boy sonogram be wrong" would be... false. I did. I did that. Somewhere the government has it on record. I'm going to deny it, though just like my college illegally downloaded music. I think what first set me off is that the lady called it a "weenie." Um? grow up. lets call it what it is... a tallywacker. Kidding. I call it a penis. Then I kept asking... "are you sure?" She said yes. So, I'm going with that instead of the people on the googles who use the word "cud" to mean "could." She seemed more reliable than that.
So welcome baby boy. I promise I'll love you to the ends of the earth. I'll even name you. And squeeze you. And vow to save your life like I do with your big brother. Basically, you are going to lead me to a life of mom jeans. I know it's true, but I love you anyway. Now if you could make some big movements in there to let me know you're kickin' I'd like it. Now where are my crocs...
I think I'll have a cookie to persuade you.