Who's in Mama's tum?!

So we had the ultrasound on Monday and got the results Tuesday morning-- which struck me as pretty quick. Good thing too. I was pretty choked that they charged me 10$ for those lame computer print-out photos and made me go to the bank for cash to pay. Plus they spelled my name wrong. But the point is that the baby is perfect and the placenta and uterus and fluids are all normal which is a nice relief.

Not that I expected anything to be wrong. It's just good news to have. And to be honest, I've felt fairly detached from this baby and pregnancy. When I got pregnant with Theo I felt like I knew him right away. I was sure he was a boy and just felt some sort of connection to him. This time is totally different. We had a little more trouble getting pregnant and were under a lot more pressure this time around (financially and just generally), so when I found out I was pregnant, it really didn't feel real. I half expected to miscarry or something because I just didn't feel like the baby was really there and this was really happening all over again. Even when I started to feel the kicking (much earlier this time) I still didn't feel pregnant. Just tired.

That's partly why I wanted to find out the sex. I think I wanted to have something to picture-- like me cradling a girl in her pink outfit, or sorting through all the old baby boy clothes to pick which ones I wanted to dress him in when he was born. I was so excited to be pregnant with Theo, and so sure I already knew who he was that I sort of wanted to wait to find out the sex-- save something for a surprise. But this time I just feel so unexcited (and guilty about it--irrationally) that I wanted something to imagine that I could get excited about.

Greg was not on board with finding out the sex however, because, and I quote: "There's no point coming to the birth if I already know the sex!" Now this might sound like a horrible, shallow, scoundrel-y thing to say to your pregnant wife, but I sort of see his point.

See, unlike so many sensitive, loving, and "enlightened" husbands (read my sarcasm) Greg really really feels reluctant to be at the birth. And most modern people would shout "What a bastard!" But I think that lots of men feel the same way and are too ashamed to admit it. Think about it: men are pretty much useless in the birthing room-- at least by their standards. They like to help, especially with physically demanding stuff (like lifting and opening jars and stuff). It makes them feel manly. In the birthing room they can't really do anything but "be there for you" which is kind of a role reversal if you think about it. MOMMIES hold your hand and say sweet comforting things when you hurt. It's gotta suck not being able to help much with the pain and try to be the sensitive loving one who knows exactly what to say to make you feel supported. Some guys are better at it than others, but it's quite a challenge for lots of guys.

Also, birth is gross. I'm sorry, people who say it's magical and amazing are full of it. There's blood and screaming and slippery slimy stuff and fluids leaking. It's not pretty. Plus new babies aren't much to look at. They're like lizards or purple aliens. And guys can be really squeamish. I don't blame them. When they offered me that mirror to see the head I was like "NO WAY JOSE!! Gro-oss!!!" I'll do the pushing, but I don't want to look at it. So I don't expect Greg to want to either.

Now of course he DID come to the birth and averted his eyes as much as he could. What else was he going to do? He thought-- I know! I'll wait in the hall! Until of course my midwife pointed out that it could be hours and hours and he couldn't just hang out in the hospital hallway forever. I think she was a little scandalised that didn't want to be there. But he wasn't about to go mountain biking or play video games and wait for a phone call. So he was stuck. And he was the announcer for the event, phoning everyone to say I was in labour and then to say that the baby was coming NOW and then to tell everyone it's a boy!! He must have spent half the night on the phone. And he kicked people out when I wanted him to, which was helpful. So he didn't do nothing, but I bet it didn't feel very useful for him.

For him the pay-off was that he got to find out the sex. It's a little like opening presents on Christmas morning. It's not as much of a delight if you already know what you're getting. Small consolation for feeling useless while your wife screams her lungs out and swears at you (not me though) and shoots out all this disgusting stuff, not excluding this creature of reptilian appearance that you're supposed to greet with tears of joy. If the sex is a surprise then at least that's something he can look forward to. After all-- the only thing that's immediately obvious about who your kid is when it comes out is the sex. Other than that it's pretty much just this revolting, writhing, slimy, screaming purple thing.

And in spite of my irrational idea that I might feel closer to the baby if I know the sex in advance (and I really want a girl so it would be nice to know if it's a boy ahead of time to avoid disappointment) I think I get where Greg is coming from. It really IS a bit like peaking at your present before Christmas Day. I might be glad in the end that Greg made me wait.

Having said that, we still have the information available to us. My midwife knows the sex because we asked for it on the requisition form. She's carefully hidden the answer in an envelope so we can change our minds if we want. I might die of curiosity before the birth and have to ask. But I'll at least wait until much closer to the due date so I can keep it a secret and Greg can still have his pay-off...