Let me set the scene: It's a cool (compared to the recent north of 100 degree highs), stormy Saturday morning and as we are waiting for the ultrasound technician to call us back, the Creed song "With Arms Wide Open" begins playing right around the part where he says "I just heard the news today...it seems my life is going to change"...totally cheesy, you don't have to tell me twice. So much so that we look at each other and think it must be a CD they play, but no, it was indeed the radio. Maybe we were just more aware of our surroundings; taking it all in, because our lives were in fact about to change forever. We were soon to find out the gender of our first born. Peanut, as we had so affectionately come to call the growing baby.
I fully understand that there are women, couples, partners out there that are able to wait the entire pregnancy to find out at birth whether the little bundle of joy is a boy or a girl and I commend them. For me, and Husband, that just wasn't cuttin' it. I wanted to know and I wanted to know like yesterday. If there was a way to find out at conception, I would have probably tossed the idea around. I do have to say, though, that waiting even those first 16 weeks to find out was amazing. The last week, however, was sheer torture, in every good sense of the word. Boy or girl, boy or girl, boy or girl. I dreamt of Husband shopping for girl clothes and was sure, positive, no doubt in my mind (until the last several days before the appointment) that I was indeed having a little princess. But, those last few days, I knew, just knew, that it was a boy. Now totally confused and just wanting to know one way or the other, we laid there waiting. Yes, Husband, too. It was a large bed. He was more leaning, me more laying.
Jelly on the belly as Husband likes to put it -- and we were off. Looking, looking -- just ecstatic to see little Peanut moving around in there and knowing that I could feel that little person inside me.
"Hey there, move your leg" the tech said as she gently pressed on my baby bump. And there it was, in all its glory -- the Turtle. Yes, the turtle. Our lovely ultrasound tech had explained that we would be looking for a turtle or a hamburger -- the former for a boy and the latter for a girl -- very scientific, I know. I'll let you think about that one for a second...
A turtle it was -- a little boy -- one that had apparently already discovered his "part." Unconscious as the action might have been. I just couldn't believe it. That strong feeling I had was right. And, we could finally call Peanut by his proper name: Harper Christian.
So, off we go into the land of boy-dom -- much more familiar to Husband than I, but every bit exciting for both of us. The nursery (i.e. upstairs of our house that has been gutted, is in the process of getting drywall, and will soon look like the cutest darn nursery ever in existence, thank you) is quite possibly one of the most exciting parts of this whole nesting business that I just can't wait to start on. Soon enough. Soon enough.
Until next time, here's little Harper maxin' and relaxin'. It's almost as if he knew that we knew who he was. This cosmic connection had been formed and he was just waiting to let us know who he was and now that he had, he just wanted to throw his hands back and chill...
