Preggy Brains 6, Golf shirts 0
If Dr. Simmons turns out to be completely wrong and we end up having a boy, we can just save Chip’s shirts for Percival III. Rather than fitting my six-foot-two husband, they now fit someone closer to two-foot-six.
Thursday, September 30
Tuesday, September 28
My husband tried opening the door tonight but became so frustrated with the keys that he banged on the door and yelled for me to open it instead. It was my first clue that something hadn’t gone well at his job and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what had so quickly eclipsed the euphoria of finding out we were having a daughter. But being a pretty good wife, I asked anyway.
He shot me a hurt, angry look. “Everybody came up to me today wanting to know what we were having, and I was shocked to see how the guys responded.”
I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “It was there for only an instant, but in almost all of their eyes, I saw a flicker of pity or disappointment. They recovered quickly enough to shake my hand and tell me how great it was, but it was there.”
“Everybody did this?” I couldn’t believe it.
“No. Only the guys. And not all of them, but several.” He shook his head. “Like boys are better, somehow. You’re a girl, Ellie, and I like you better than anybody!”
Even when he’s furious at someone else, he can still manage to make me feel great. It’s just another reason he’ll make a wonderful dad.
He shot me a hurt, angry look. “Everybody came up to me today wanting to know what we were having, and I was shocked to see how the guys responded.”
I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “It was there for only an instant, but in almost all of their eyes, I saw a flicker of pity or disappointment. They recovered quickly enough to shake my hand and tell me how great it was, but it was there.”
“Everybody did this?” I couldn’t believe it.
“No. Only the guys. And not all of them, but several.” He shook his head. “Like boys are better, somehow. You’re a girl, Ellie, and I like you better than anybody!”
Even when he’s furious at someone else, he can still manage to make me feel great. It’s just another reason he’ll make a wonderful dad.
Monday, September 27
Week 19
Chip and I are sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Simmons’ office, about to find out whether to paint the nursery seashell pink or cornflower blue. That is, of course, if the baby hasn’t inherited its father’s extreme sense of modesty. Chip wouldn’t even change in front of our next-door neighbors’ female Pomeranian when we dog-sat one weekend.
It’s so cliche to say it, but I would really be happy with either a boy or a girl. (Chip is reading over my shoulder and says he would too. And that he doesn’t appreciate the dog comment.) I speak for both of us when I say we’re just happy to be having a baby, period.
Oops, got to go. They just called our name. I'm so excited!
***
It’s so cliche to say it, but I would really be happy with either a boy or a girl. (Chip is reading over my shoulder and says he would too. And that he doesn’t appreciate the dog comment.) I speak for both of us when I say we’re just happy to be having a baby, period.
Oops, got to go. They just called our name. I'm so excited!
***
IT’S A GIRL! I can’t believe we’re going to have a girl. And I can’t believe how much she’s grown! I don’t know what she could possibly be noshing in there, but she was chewing. And she rolled. And she moved her arm up near her face. (Can you tell I’m smitten?) Her spine is perfectly formed. And so are her little toes! Chip went absolutely nuts when he saw those itty-bitty feet.
We’ve got new ultrasound pictures to tack onto the refrigerator, including one where the baby has a rascally expression that Chip insists looks just like him.
So it looks like the future holds dolls, stuffed animals, telephones, sleepovers, and dance lessons for the McAllisters. And lots of adorable little outfits that are definitely girly but not too fru-fru.
We’ve got new ultrasound pictures to tack onto the refrigerator, including one where the baby has a rascally expression that Chip insists looks just like him.
So it looks like the future holds dolls, stuffed animals, telephones, sleepovers, and dance lessons for the McAllisters. And lots of adorable little outfits that are definitely girly but not too fru-fru.
And most important, a mother who had better be ever-vigilant that her husband doesn’t get wound too tightly around this little one’s pinky.
Sunday, September 19
Month Four: September
Somewhere in no-man’s land along I-16 between Savannah and Macon
Chip and I had to curtail our baby’s first in-utero trip to the Georgia coast. Relaxing on the windswept beach at Jekyll Island and running out for food ten times a day to appease the baby's appetite was pleasant enough until this morning, when the air conditioner broke in our car. Trust me, you don't want to be driving around in the coastal Georgia heat when you're pregnant. Currently all our windows are down as we head home but I'm getting little relief even at seventy mph. Carrying on a conversation with Chip above the roar is impossible.
We spent over a hundred dollars and three hours at the service station trying to determine the problem, apparently a blown fuse. We drove about five miles and reveled in the cool air blowing on us when we heard a “click” and the air started blowing hot again. Chip stopped at Walmart and bought a packet of fuses from the automotive department and we started back toward Atlanta, popping in new fuses as the old ones blew. Eventually that no longer worked, though.
You know how adversity often creates opportunity? The whole lemons and lemonade thing? Well, all that sweating (sorry, Miss Manners, but there's no way perspire is going to be an adequate word usage) has given me a terrific idea. If Georgia ever returns to the harrowing drought conditions of just a couple of years ago, at least now I’ve discovered the solution. Just put some pregnant women in a car without air conditioning. I'm thinking three would do it. And voila, there would be enough fluid streaming down the middle of their backs to overcome ANY drought.
Chip and I had to curtail our baby’s first in-utero trip to the Georgia coast. Relaxing on the windswept beach at Jekyll Island and running out for food ten times a day to appease the baby's appetite was pleasant enough until this morning, when the air conditioner broke in our car. Trust me, you don't want to be driving around in the coastal Georgia heat when you're pregnant. Currently all our windows are down as we head home but I'm getting little relief even at seventy mph. Carrying on a conversation with Chip above the roar is impossible.
We spent over a hundred dollars and three hours at the service station trying to determine the problem, apparently a blown fuse. We drove about five miles and reveled in the cool air blowing on us when we heard a “click” and the air started blowing hot again. Chip stopped at Walmart and bought a packet of fuses from the automotive department and we started back toward Atlanta, popping in new fuses as the old ones blew. Eventually that no longer worked, though.
You know how adversity often creates opportunity? The whole lemons and lemonade thing? Well, all that sweating (sorry, Miss Manners, but there's no way perspire is going to be an adequate word usage) has given me a terrific idea. If Georgia ever returns to the harrowing drought conditions of just a couple of years ago, at least now I’ve discovered the solution. Just put some pregnant women in a car without air conditioning. I'm thinking three would do it. And voila, there would be enough fluid streaming down the middle of their backs to overcome ANY drought.
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