I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked what I want the baby to be. Friends, family, co-workers. They are all curious what my preference is, as if it has some bearing on…I don’t know what.
Don’t get me wrong. I will readily admit to having asked this very question. But now that I am on the receiving end, I realize how silly and impossible to answer this query this is. Of course I feel guilty not having an answer at the ready, so here is my explanation why I really just don’t know:
First, I didn’t really have a choice. It’s not like we got to order the baby off of a menu. “I’ll take a boy, with brown hair, blue eyes and and a side of freckles. Oh, and I’d like a tall drink of water (get it? wink, wink).” As with most things in life, if I don’t have any control over a situation, especially a situation that ends well no matter which way it goes, I really do not put much thought into what I want. I just roll with it.
Second, the same people who know we are having a baby also know I already have a son and a daughter. I have seen the light and dark sides of those moons, and they are just as much of a joy as they are utterly confounding at times. Boys are rough and tumble jokesters with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Girls are sweet and thoughful, but have a tendency to channel soap operas divas 95% of the time. It’s a snips-and-snails-and-puppy-dog-tails versus sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice smackdown. It’s a toss up. Every. Single. Time.
Third, at the end of the day, does it really matter what I want? As long as the baby is healthy, has the requisite number of fingers and toes, and utters “dada” as its first words, everything else will take care of itself.
Well, not really by itself, as that would be a miracle, but you know what I mean…