Friday, September 3, 2010
I am always amazed by the way people perceive boys. Even a single, adorable little moppet of a boy sitting in the front of his Momma's shopping cart is likely to illicit a "Whoa! I bet he's a little troublemaker!" from a stranger. Making your way down an aisle with four of the little creatures, for some reason, makes people go bug-eyed.
"Heaven help you, honey," a well-meaning lady told me recently as I selected the perfect pineapple. "Tell me that one's not a boy, too." She motioned sympathetically toward my belly, as if it might contain yet another horrendous, messy, wild boy child.
In front of my four sons, mind you.
I have personally always been delighted by raising boys. Yes, yes, they contain little mysteries all their own. Why, for example, must they fixate on certain kinds of humor around the dinner table? Why, oh why, do they eventually want to learn to potty standing up? And why, most of all, do they ponder the most intimate gender questions aloud? In public? With the most volume they can muster? (Yes, there are stories behind this.)
None of these little idiosyncrasies give me pause in the thought of being the mother of yet another little man, however. No matter what bystanders think as they see us unload from our big white van ("Girl, boy, boy, boy, boy ... poor thing!") neither Mr. Blandings nor I has any aversion to Seven being a boy. Or a girl. Whatever he or she happens to be, we're simply delighted to see what God has in store for us.
That being said, I'm delighted to announce that whatever gender this baby is, the truth will be revealed September 11th at the latest. My doctor has given us an induction date based on the hefty size we're assuming Seven to be. If I go into labor spontaneously between now and then, so be it. If not, we'll meet our little one on 9/11/10.
Boy or girl. The wait is almost over. :-)