“Oh my! I already know what it is,” the ultrasound technician said as soon as she set her fancy air hockey paddle on my wife’s belly. She nodded toward the monitor. “That’s a boy – no doubt about it.” She typed the words “It’s a Boy!” on the screen with an arrow pointing to the peninsula of grayish-white protruding into the sea of black.
My wife grinned. She knew I was thinking, “Yeah, they’ve never had to squint to find it on any of my boys. Score one for heredity.” I gave her my You’re a Lucky, Lucky Woman nod. This is one moment when a man should be allowed to be full of himself.
We always assumed it would be a boy, because that’s what we do. We’re used to boys. We have clothes for them. Everything we know about children we learned from boys. Only after the ultrasound was over did we notice that both of us were wearing something pink. I wonder what that means.
This ultrasound seemed to last a lot longer than the previous ones. If they’re going to drag this process out, like Major League Baseball games, I think they should try to save the penis for last, just to keep some drama in it. Instant penis is like a 10-run first inning. After that, they’re just padding the score sheet until its time to go home.
The face, fingers, feet and things are nice, but they don’t really tell you anything specific about your child, except that he has those things. The ultrasound pictures of our boys are indistinguishable from one another. They all flashed their junk and then presented generic baby parts to the camera.
Our one-year-old was watching with me. He was excited to see the pictures at first, but soon became bored with all the semi-distinguishable parts. When the technician wouldn’t let him run the machine, he decided he was outta there. He and I walked the halls, he trying to sneak into offices and find buttons to push.
When Mommy was done, she joined us in another room where we waited for the doctor. Our little boy was bored and antsy, so we had to find something to occupy him. They have interesting pastimes in an OBGYN office.
He started with a pen and a pad of paper, each sheet printed with a diagram of a uterus. He made a nice drawing over the lady parts. When this got dull, he found a sample birth control ring on the counter. It was attached by a string to a little box. On the box was a button that, when pushed, retracted the string like the cord on a fancy vacuum cleaner. It made a delightful toy, but I had to wonder, is the real ring attached to a retractable cord? That would be surprising, though it’s probably convenient.
The doctor said everything looked good. Did we have any questions?
Yeah. Why are we wearing pink to a peninsula party?