January 21, 2008
Boy, Oh Boy
When I found out I was pregnant four years ago, the first thing I said to my doctor was, “So…when do I get an ultrasound?”
I wanted to know exactly what was growing inside my belly. If a tiny human was going to be housed inside me for nine months, stretching my stomach into what looked like a busy city road map, I demanded to know so I could name him (or her) appropriately. Instead I called the baby “the little alien”.
“Listen, you little alien, if you’re going to kick me in the ribs, you could do it before I’ve eaten. Holy hell, that hurts!”
But the stubborn baby taking over my uterus (and bladder, and every other body organ that was shoved out of the way) refused to uncross it’s legs when the time came to have cold jelly rubbed on my belly.
I loved watching fetal acrobatics in utero, and getting those first ultrasound images made everything seem more real, but my baby decided to be modest and keep those little legs crossed.
“It’s a girl…” my husband chuckled. “And damn right she better keep her legs closed. She has no idea how scary this whole pregnancy thing is.”
“Uh huh,” I said sarcastically. “Because you know soooo much about morning sickness, heartburn and carrying extra pounds in your hips, thighs, ass and stomach.”
During the next few months, my family and friends suggested several “magic formulas” for determining the baby’s gender.
“Poor Clorox in the toilet bowl, go pee and if the water turns yellow it’s a boy. If it it turns green it’s a girl.” My aunt joked.
“Okay, so isn’t pee naturally kind of yellow? And if it turns green, doesn’t that mean I’ve celebrated St. Patrick’s Day four months too late?” I asked.
“No, no, no!” my mom said. “You can’t put bleach and urine in the toilet together, it’ll blow your tushie right off! Don’t you girls read Good Housekeeping?”
When I was 8 months pregnant I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and my doctor recommended another ultrasound to make sure the baby looked good should I go into pre-term labor.
As the technician was taking measurements, pushing and prodding my belly to get the baby to move around, she pointed to a body part and said, “He looks very good. Very healthy.”
“Wait. What?” I shrieked. “It’s….it’s…a BOY?”
I started to cry. Not because I was sad, but because I finally knew that a boy was the one kicking me for hours while I tried to sleep. I always wanted a boy, and I couldn’t wait to call my husband and tell him the news.
“It’s a boy! A boy! We are having a boy!” I yelled into the phone.
“Holy shit. For real? You wouldn’t lie to a dad-to-be, would you?” He asked.
“Who said you’re the father?” I joked.
Three weeks later, Dawson was born, and I realized I knew nothing about baby boys. I have two younger brothers and I knew that boys like sports and race cars, but I hadn’t the first clue about boy parts.
I had changed my youngest brother’s diapers when he was a baby, but he had never peed on me. The first diaper I changed for Dawson, he peed all over my night gown. I swear he was trying to prove his boyhood.
And nobody ever told me that boys are wild. They yell and scream and run and jump and demand food and cookies and apple juice. Eveything! Must! Be! LOUD! And! Rough! Now that Dawson is three years old, I’ve become a human jungle gym.
“Hey, Murphy! Let’s jump on mommy’s legs for fun!”
No, seriously. I do believe that my son conspires with the dog to beat the crap out of me. The tugging and pulling and the “Mommy! Let’s play football. I get to be da tackle and you get to be hurt! It’s a lot of fun! I prooooomise.”
Just yesterday I bruised my collar bone because Dawson ran full force and rammed his head into me, all the while screaming, “Nine, seven, three, six, two…HUUUUTTTTT!”
But, to be fair, no one told me how much little boys love their mamas, either. All the tackling is worth it. I proooomise.
Congratulations, Julie! Your precious baby boy will be here soon. Take cover. A raincoat will save many mommy outfits. While you’re at it, stock up on football pads, too. The tackling will begin before you know it.
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January 21st, 2008 at 10:27 AM, mayberry Says:
You got that right! Thanks for joining in the shower fun.
Signed,
another human tackle dummy
January 21st, 2008 at 10:36 AM, mothergoosemouse Says:
Thanks Dana!! It’s funny, if I hadn’t been shown ultrasound evidence that this one’s a boy, I’d know something was up just by how much he moves around. Neither of the girls was ever this active in utero!
January 21st, 2008 at 10:44 AM, Jenny Says:
“Who said you’re the father?”
Ha! Love this.
January 21st, 2008 at 12:07 PM, Dana Says:
mayberry, I have more bruises from playing living room football than I do from working out at the gym (and we do a “football workout” there).
MGM, after having Dawson, I would probably assume all babies kick like that, but if you say your girls were less active, that gives me hope. I’m praying for a girl in the future. Just to even things out (eve our dog is male; I’m outnumbered).
Jenny, I was funnier when I was pregnant.