A Girl!

We’d heard lovely stories about how people learned the news of the sex of their expected new addition. Hilarious wagers, Ribbons in boxes, and even the passing of the information from Ultrasound technician to baker – The parents only discovering the gender when the knife emerged from the middle of a frosted cake; pink for a girl or blue for a boy.

The morning of our scan, S and I realised we didn’t have any particularly creative ideas planned, but also didn’t just want to have a finger pointed to a screen. Looking around in last-minute desperation I came across some small pastel-coloured wooden rabbits that mum had brought over from England to Easter-up my house. I grabbed a pink and a blue one along with a couple of envelopes. I wrote “Your baby!” on one and “Spare Bunny” on the other and we headed out the door.

When we first found out I was pregnant, my instant feeling was that I was carrying a girl. I don’t know why or how, but that was my gut. As the weeks progressed I convinced myself more and more in the other direction. Everyone around me was having a boy, the apparently infallible Chinese calendar thing online said ‘boy’ for every possible conception date in the 2 week window, I had a very ‘easy’ first trimester in terms of nausea – and all my friends who’d had girls were sick as dogs.

When I’d checked out the Chinese Calendar, my heart had involuntarily sunk every time it said ‘boy’. That was the first time I realised I had a preference.

I knew I’d be happy with a son – boys are awesome - but this is probably going to be my only pregnancy (don’t think we can fathom FOUR kids when we have the Steps with us) and I knew, deep down, really REALLY wanted a daughter.

90% of this is because of the great relationship I have with my mum. “A son is a son till he gets married. A daughter is a daughter for life”, she has told me in the past, and I feel its truth every time my mind reaches in her direction.

I can do without ribbons and curling irons, tween bullying and teenage tantrums, but the friendship and trust that I hope can be built over time… that is what I hope for.

That and some REALLY cute dresses.

Feeling The Movement

The first time I felt the baby move I was in bed. It was late, S was already sleeping I was just settling down.

Blip. Like a gas bubble deep in my abdomen. A butterfly flapping its wings. A sparkle. An echo. So gentle, but so definite. There you are. Hello.

I didn’t feel it again for weeks. Life on a tour bus leaves little room for stillness, as most every sleeping moment is accompanied by engine vibrations and bumpy roads. I, of course, turned this into gentle worry. I should be feeling movement. Something’s wrong.

Blip Bloop. There you were again.

From those early echoes, through the first time S laid his hands on my belly and felt something more definite, laying on the couch during The Daily Show and watching occasional flutters by my tummy button, to now… I know that lump by my (wonderfully still ‘inny’) belly button is your bum. I know that it’s your head that squeezes my bladder the minute I shift positions. I know when there’s a big thump up by my diaphragm, you’re kicking.

As I write you’re making yourself known. Arms and knees I think. The occasional foot making the fabric of my shirt twitch up by my ribs. I know it’s getting tight in there… there’ll be plenty of time for stretching in a few weeks.

I already know I’m going to miss this intimately alien connection. It is, without a doubt, the most magical thing about pregnancy, and I am so very glad I got to experience it.