“Hello, my name is Scan Lady and I’ll be bringing you through your 22 week scan experience.” I, as usual at this stage, am flat on my back with a belly full of scan goo while the fella is petting my foot at the end of the bed. It is BIG SCAN day people, and it’s pretty damn exciting. I don’t even mind the somewhat intrusive probing from Scan Lady for today is the day I find out what flavour baby I’m having.
“On the left we see a nice long leg there, a good shape tummy and… ok, baby isn’t cooperating here – hold on a second.” I am telling you no word of a lie when I say that Scan Lady leaned over me, wielding her games console thingy and started to BASH my stomach with it, saying “come on baby! – Your baby is too comfy and doesn’t want to show us the heart, so we’re going to make life a bit difficult for a few minutes to get baby to roll over.” HOLD ON A SECOND HERE. This woman is using brute force to make my child so uncomfortable that the baby will admit defeat and do what she wants. This pisses me off, and obviously my baby too, who stubbornly refuses to move. Needless to say, me and the fella are a mite stressed out at this point. I am talking to the baby in my head, saying “listen, we know this one is a total COW, but I don’t think this is the right time to exert the full extent of your stubborn personality. Come on, move over.” Naturally, the baby listened to Mamma and promptly rolled over, showing a lovely heart, that was working perfectly – HURRAY!
“Now we move down to the kidneys (good, good), the liver and oh, there’s a foot.” In all fairness, at this point I just want to know what flavour baby it is. The fella and I start getting a bit fidgety, nodding and smiling tightly as we are brought further through our anatomy lesson. Eventually I crack. “Can you tell whether it’s a boy or a girl? It’s just, we really wanted to find out today.” Scan Lady is a bit put out – she clearly thought she had a captive audience. “Well, let’s see. Ok, OOO-KAY. Now, I would bet 100 quid that that’s a boy.”
A BOY! Holy God. I am in shock. The fella knew it was a boy because he had a dream about him a few nights back. I, on the other hand, was CONVINCED it was a girl called Sophie. I lie back and let it sink in. Yes, I decide, I am DELIGHTED. There are many advantages to boys. While you can’t dress them up as dolls, they will love you way more than they love their Dad (handy for family arguments), won’t hit the teenage “I hate my Mother years” like all girls do and best of all? Well, I can torture his girlfriends when he brings them home to meet me. Yes, this has all worked out very very well I must say. Beside me, the fella has swelled to about seven times his size with pride. I think he is having a profound moment, where he is realising for the first time the magnitude of this journey we’re embarking on. Not the case it seems. In the days that follow, the story of our son’s HUGE crown jewels do the rounds – I’m surprised that he doesn’t tell the person packing our bags in the supermarket.
I spend the next few days in a daze, looking at boy baby clothes with new respect and readjusting the storybook in my head where I am storing my version of our little family to include a boy. I can’t feel him kick yet, but I’m starting to get bubbles at the bottom of my stomach that I THINK might be him kicking me – it’s super super cool feeling. I feel like me, the fella and the baby are a proper family and even though I’m not doing all the things your supposed to, like play him music that we like, and tell him all about his family – I think somehow, inherently, he knows. And that’s an AM-AY-ZING feeling.