To Find Out or Not to Find Out
Being curious is just part of life. We wanna know stuff. Like is the drama true on those reality TV series real or manufactured? Exactly how does a memory foam remember things? And what the heck is in those holiday fruit cakes?
When we don’t know the answer to something, we’ll find it. Many people have an insatiable desire to figure it all out. We’ll turn over books, scour the Internet, bug our co-workers, and stalk our friends to fill in the blanks. We are informationally spoiled!
Once I became pregnant, I was naturally curious if I was having a boy or a girl. I’m the youngest of six children and the only girl. In fact I’m the only granddaughter out of 10 grandchildren. The pressure was on. But I really tried to have a kind of Zen, laid back attitude. My thinking was that there are so few surprises in life. Okay, there’s the prize in the Cracker Jack box, maybe an awkward 40 or 50th birthday party, and finding out whose been leaving those lame gifts on your desk in the annual office Secret Santa. So I figured I could add one more surprise to the list and not find out the gender of our child.
Mind you, that relaxed attitude was not easy for me. There were a million reasons I was convinced we needed to know definitively the sex of our child ahead of time. The obvious was the kid was going to need clothes. Honestly, I would totally put a girl in a blue onesie or jumper. But as frugal and open-minded as I am I would not put my son in a pink dress. He can do that himself down the line if he chooses, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to start that ritual. And then names. We had names that were specific to whether we were going to have a boy or girl. I didn’t need some heartless brat in the neighborhood to blurt out, “Yes. You are the only female Joshua. In the world!”
And other people wanted to know. Sure, it wasn’t really their business. But they were offering outfits, blankies, toys, and plush stuffed animals. There was a pretty good chance that a closet full of unused Tonkas and baseball hats wasn’t going to impress our kid if it were a girl.
We (or at least I) went into our sonogram appointment not wanting to know. But I think our flip flopping annoyed the technician. The only part I recall is Charles saying, “It’s a girl. I know it’s a girl.” To which the technician replied, “It’s a good thing you’re not a betting man.”
I honestly can’t think of any other time spotting a penis had such an impact in my life. It was time to pile on all things blue. The list of names was cut in half. And all those that asked could be given an answer. I was grateful, because I had so much more to figure out. For starters, what is in those fruit cakes?