Mindy and I went in for the "big ultrasound" two weeks ago. I haven't told you guys yet because things have been busy around the house and school.
The big ultrasound was amazing, of course. We saw the widget moving and kicking at the probe. I probably could've popped a beer and camped out in that room all day and just watched widgie move, but you know, I guess they had other appointments to get to.
They call this the big ultrasound because it's at week 20. During that time, people find out if the baby is a boy or a girl. As I ranted earlier, we didn't want to find out because we didn't want gendered clothes and attitudes.
But in that room, with the baby on the screen, all I could stare at was the crotch. The tech. kept moving the wand around and taking pictures and here was our baby, all of its limbs, its brain the size it's supposed to be, and all I could do was try to see what was or wasn't between the legs.
It was killing me. So, Mindy and I exchanged several grunts and eye flourishes before deciding that we did want to know what was between the legs, not because it would make a difference, but because the pressure and suspense was too much to handle. We pinky swore and then asked the tech. to tell us.
She moved the wand, the slightest of movements. "It's a jimmy!" I said. Mindy made a surprised noise. The tech confirmed it is a boy.
We didn't know if we should tell anyone that we caved. So, we went to TGIFridays. I know, I know, but somehow we got into this routine after major appointments, we'd go have a snack at the bar. So, we're at this horrible place and our server asks how are day is going. Mindy blurts out, "It's a boy. We have to tell someone." She was genuinely excited and then we showed her the huge roll of pictures we'd gotten.
Since then, I've let this news slip here and there. It's not a secret, but I didn't wanna scream it out, either.
When I happen to tell people, their first response is, "I bet your dad is really excited."
It's hard for me to say how this makes me feel. I wonder why they say that, but then, I know why they say it. Ultimately, I leave feeling upset.
I hunted, played sports, learned to change oil, helped haul wood, buck hay, cut up squirrels, hose out deer carcasses, cussed, had a Holzhauser sense of humor, worked hard at everything I did.
Wasn't I the best kid a dad could want? What need could a boy fill that I couldn't? How is it so obvious that everyone has to point it out?
And I have to wonder if this one exclamation, about Dad being so happy, is the answer to the question of nature vs. nurture.
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