The wee one had legs closed, feet pointed like a tiny ballerina (except, pointed at my cervix, which is so not Baryshnikov-approved), for a good 30 minutes of the ultrasound today. Little A. had declared that morning that the baby in my tummy was "ah bruvver." And the FYD and other family were convinced of Boy. I hedged my bets, having realized my guts, as Rob Gordon so eloquently said, "have crap for brains." Except he didn't say "crap."
I just don't think a cuss is appropriate right now! Not as we discuss the glories of my uterus. Geez.
ANYWAY. All organs, fingers and toes accounted for, the ultrasound tech (who I remembered gave us our first look at Little A's little bits) went after the prize. The wee one wiggled around until I saw...what is that? A BUTT? IT was a butt. The wee one gave us the full moon shot, a moonbutt with no telltale BOY things in sight.
Lo, I shall spawn another girlchild. I am really excited for Little A. to have a sister. My brother and I enjoyed a relatively drama-free, but not particularly close growing-up, and well, perhaps I romanticize, but SISTERS? That seems like a lovely built-in womanhood support system. I am so eager to watch them together.
And so very very NOT eager to wage war with two Tweens getting their periods whilst I endure the throes of menopause. Oh, girls. We will just burn those bridges when we get to them. And terrify the poor even more outnumbered FYD to bits.
C'est la vie du femmes, xoxo - A