Pregnant Belly. 21 weeks.
Last December, when I took that pregnancy test, I started crying. And if I'm being honest, they weren't exactly happy tears. But they weren't sad tears either. I think I was mostly scared. Scared of the first trimester. Scared of delivery. Scared of starting over (Jack will be a kindergartener in the fall!). And some of it was valid. I spent six weeks in bed from the sixth week on. It was pretty gross, as I knew it would be. But I got through it.
Once I was through that trimester, I could not wait to find out the gender of this baby. The minute I told them I was expecting, my boys (all three of them) all said, "Oh! I hope it's a sister!" Whoa. That's some pressure. I assured them that is was the perfect baby for our family, and that God already chose if it was a boy or a girl. Still, they pestered me daily with their hopes for a girl baby. It got to the point where Jack would say, "I hope it's a girl, Mom. I know, I know. God already chose!"
I was sure it was a boy. I don't know if it was partly self-preservation or if I thought the captain could only make boys or if it was my limited knowledge of the shettles method, or a combination of the three, but I told everyone I was sure it was a boy. I fell in love with a boy name. I went through periods of panic about my reaction to the gender news. And then I found peace.
So last week when we went to the ultrasound, I was pretty prepared emotionally. It took the sonographer about 20 minutes to confirm girl parts. I broke into tears. She said, "Use your towel, honey!" To which I responded, "Oh, no, it's okay. My husband brought Kleenex!" And he did. And I used them.
Can you imagine my joy? I'm 35 years old and realizing a dream coming true that I never really believed would. The captain is going to be the father to a daughter. And to be honest, I'm thrilled for me. But at least as thrilled for him. And for my boys. And for her. How loved will this little girl be? You're going to find out...stick around a few months!
When Matthew was a baby, he couldn't say his "d" sounds. So we started calling the captain "Papa." And it stuck. And it's adorable. They love their papa with all their hearts, my boys. And so shall she. And so do I. Even though he thinks four is as good a number as six.