The truth about our coy little baby

When we got the ultrasound on December 17th, it was noted on the requisition that we wanted to know the sex of the baby. The reason for this is a little shameful. Due to various life experiences (such as suddenly becoming the caregiver to two pre-teen boys at the age of 25), I have felt strongly for many years that the universe "owes" me a girl. Whenever the argument comes up among parents or would-be parents over whether girls or boys are easier to raise - they usually concede that girls are easier in the pre-teen years, while boys are easier in the teenage years - my final thought on the subject is that through all the drama, angst, tears, and tantrums, I will at least *understand* a girl and what she is going through. I may not be able to convince her that I understand, but I will at least have a head start on figuring out what is going on for her. Boys, on the other hand - they are aliens. Completely and utterly bizarre. I don't understand them one single bit. Even the boy I've married will be the first to tell you that he's very in touch with his feminine side, and thus he mostly makes sense to me.

Now, don't get me wrong. Of course I would love a son as much as a daughter. But I really felt that I wanted a heads-up, an advance warning that would give me time to "get used to" the idea of mothering a son. I didn't want to ruin my baby's birth date by acting pissy or disappointed if I didn't get the girl I wanted. So we asked to find out the sex.

And the silly little baby kept its legs crossed through the whole exam.

But the tech told us at the time that she thought she got one good picture of the sex. Though she couldn't disclose to us what she thought she saw, she told us that it would be up to the radiologist to interpret the picture and choose whether to include his so-called conclusion in the report. The radiologist did, in fact, see fit to include the findings, and the findings were "a high probability that the baby is a girl".

A high probability? Well. I was sent into a tizzy, and haven't quite come out yet. The problem (you knew there had to be a problem, right?) is that if the baby now turns out to be a boy, I'm going to have an even bigger shock to deal with on B-day. My hopes are up even higher than they were before. There has been a great deal of pondering and second-guessing about the phrase on the radiologist's report, mostly on the part of my sister and I.
Theory 1. The baby is totally 100% a girl, but the radiologist never gives 100% answers because he might get sued if he is wrong. So he always couches his interpretations with "high probability".
Theory 2. The radiologist was not able to figure out the sex with 100% accuracy and so is unwilling to say "it's a girl", but he must be pretty damn sure that it is in order to include the educated guess of "high probability".
Theory 3. It's easier to miss a penis/scrotum when one is there than it is to see one when it isn't there. So the baby could be a boy and the genitals were just hidden because he is COY.

I tried to pull some strings and get another ultrasound through some contacts at the hospital, but there was no luck there. Barring any medical need, I won't have another ultrasound at all, which means I'm due for a surprise on B-day, the exact thing I didn't want. In the time leading up to the ultrasound and the phone call afterwards giving us the results, I spent a lot of time preparing myself for what I would do and how I would feel if it was a boy. I never prepared myself for how to handle it if I still didn't know.

In the weeks following the ultrasound, Chris and I slipped even deeper into insanity. We had already figured out a girl's name, so we started using it when we talked to my belly or when we referred to our future child. We have now picked out a boy's name too (nearly a month later) and try to change it up once in a while so we don't get too attached, but I think both of us really feel that the boy's name is just pretend. I'm a bad mommy already, putting these expectations and roles on my child!