Sunshine, Butterflies and Other Happy Things

It's official - Baby #2 is most definitely a BOY. I always suspected that I would have a gaggle of little boys wandering about, and so far it's proving accurate.

This also means that I got to give a big IN YOUR FACE to my husband, who persisted in believing it was a girl long after I told him weeks ago that I was 99.99% certain it was not. At one point he admitted that I was probably right, but that someone had to think it was a girl (subtext: someone has to disagree with you). Well, gentlemen - here's more proof that you should trust your ladies. It's my uterus and if anyone knows anything about the little squatter in there, it's me.

We are both ecstatic to be having another little boy. Some people (only those I don't know well) have looked slightly disappointed and expressed their condolences that it's not a girl, which amuses me. Why does everyone automatically assume that women only want girls? I've never been the girliest of girls, and certainly wasn't as a child. I was that weird, skinny kid, happiest either up in a tree, with my head in a book, or having conversations with my stuffed animals. I wouldn't even know where to begin with Barbies and dress-up. Sure, perhaps I'd like a girl at some point, but that's what #3 is for, no?

So far I am following my mother's pattern exactly - she had my two older brothers at 30 and 32, so if I have a (ahem - really awesome) baby girl at 34, I'll basically be living the same insanity that was her life in the late 70s, with three kids under age 5. Toss in the fact that I'll also be a working mom and behold the subsequent nervous breakdown. So far I am feeling fairly confident about having two kids. Of course, I'm only 18 weeks along, so there's plenty of time for the terror to set in - but right now I'm riding a happy, hormonal wave of pure excitement.

In general, the cranky-making issues of late are looking up: my ultrasound revealed a very healthy baby (knocking wood furiously), and the marginal previa is totally resolved (insert sigh of relief). My wonky eyes have been behaving recently (ditto wood-knocking), ever since I did some self-diagnosis and determined that my ultra-sensitive peepers couldn't tolerate preservatives of any kind. I switched to a preservative-free lens solution (the ONE very expensive type on the market) and TA-DA! Significant improvement. (Sidenote: anyone out there reading this with perfect vision: first of all, I hate you. Okay, not so much hate as "am bitterly jealous of." Secondly, thank your lucky stars every day of your life, because bad vision utterly SUCKS. Why my parents, who have two of the strongest contact lens prescriptions in the history of mankind, decide it would be a good idea to breed and perpetuate their maladies is beyond me.)

To summarize: healthy baby + healthy mommy = rainbows, bunny rabbits, chocolate sundaes and pogo sticks (so what if I've never actually been on one - they seem happy).