Most parents get sweet ultrasound photos of a baby’s face, looking a bit alien and smudged, but still a face. Not us. Our ultrasound technician gave us a picture of our baby’s penis. Our 21-week-old gestating little baby is unmistakably a boy. The ultrasound technician even added an arrow, pointing to the penis, in case anyone doubts this surprisingly-clear photo. We stuck the photo on the refrigerator, where we place all ultrasound shots, but this time I buried it underneath the earlier ultrasound picture, the one that shows a more palatable shot of the little boy waving (in my opinion) or giving us the finger (in Ben’s opinion). Really, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this picture of a penis. But that’s only one of the many things I’m not sure of about motherhood.
We’re now taking name suggestions. Ben likes Everett Love, I like Henry Everett Love, and Sophie alternates between Lettuce Icecream Love and The Sparkly Part of a Rainbow Love.
Sophie is disappointed that the baby in my belly won’t be a girl. She asked me to please tell the doctor that she wants a girl. I’m not quite sure why she wants a girl, but I seem to have alleviated some of her concern by promising that we’ll let the boy’s hair grow long enough to be fun to brush, too.