It's a Girl!

So finally, at 22 weeks and two days, we got to find out what we're having!

It's a baby.

More specifically, it's a baby girl!

I was very shocked, to say the least. Ever since I saw that little plus sign I've assumed it was a boy. Maybe because that was just our plan. We were planning on having a boy, and then a girl, then twin boy and girl (because that's definitely something we can control, right?) Then again, we were also planning on living on several acres of property in a custom-built house before having kids. And here we are living in an overpriced two bedroom apartment, scrambling to figure out how we're going to juggle school, work, and a baby. I guess life doesn't really follow a plan, though. Maybe for all those perfect people out there with their perfect plans. Maybe ours are more idle dreams than plans.

I'm also ashamed to admit that I cried when we popped that balloon and all the pink confetti came out. Our friend planned a gender reveal party for us, and floating amid all the pink and blue balloons around the room was a giant green balloon (for St. Patrick's day, since we want to give our kids all Irish names) that would reveal if it would be a boy or girl. For an hour and a half I had to try not to look at it because the balloon wasn't entirely opaque and I didn't want the surprise to be ruined. I was also terrified that I was going to be wrong. I've been telling people that I feel like it's a boy, and I hate being wrong. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but how can that feeling be wrong? Isn't that part of motherly instincts? Besides, everyone else I know who's recently had a baby or is pregnant now is having a boy. So when I was showered with confetti that went all down my dress and all over the floor, I kept forcing myself to smile while trying not to cry. It makes me feel like a terrible person. It's not like I'm going to love her any less, but it's hard to wrap my head around. For months I've been saying "he" and now saying "she" is just weird.

Strangely, the thing that's helping me come to terms with growing a little girl is the nickname my nieces gave her. We had a jar that we had people place name suggestions in, and my ten- and six-year old nieces repeatedly suggested "monkey." They even got her a Build-a-Bear monkey already. And for some reason I can see that. When I feel her moving now, I can smile a little and say "hey, little monkey. Getting comfy in there?" Because saying monkey is for some reason easier than saying "Aislin" (pronounced Ash-lin) right now. Although I did smile typing that.

Two other things that make me feel better: one, this is going to be the best protected little girl in the world - Michael's friends from the army (my "big brothers" who already look out for me) will make sure of that. And two, now that I'm having a little girl, it's only a few short years until I get to be the kind of crazy Irish dance mom that made my mom want to tear her hair out all those years.

Happy Saint Patricks Day!

Bitching. And Ultrasounds.

We finally got our first ultrasound at 19 weeks, 5 days. I'm not really sure why we had to wait so long, when it sounds like everyone else we've ever known has had multiple ultrasounds up to that point. Heck, there were people getting ultrasounds at 8 or even 6 weeks, when there was nothing to really see! It actually makes me a little bit mad. Maybe I'm just a crazy pregnant lady who gets worked up over silly things, but it makes me incredibly irritated when people are all over Facebook posting about how they're going to see their baby for the first time on ultrasound or they have the baby room decorated and I'm thinking...didn't you JUST find out you're pregnant? Calm your tits. I was griping about this to Michael the other day and he just said I was being silly.

Am I being silly?

I feel like I'm being cheated out of something, but I don't know what. Maybe I'm just tired of being the only mom-to-be out there who has nothing together. Everyone is getting ultrasounds every couple weeks and picking out designer nursery furniture and getting adorable professional photos announcing they're pregnant or it's a boy or whatever and I'm over here with a homeless friend crashing in our "nursery" and only remembering to post belly photos taken on my phone every couple weeks where my hair and makeup aren't done and I look like a stoned Macaulay Culkin holding a piece of fruit showing how big the baby is. That was a really long sentence, I apologize. But seriously...why am I the only one who doesn't have it together? I don't have our perfect little lives planned out, we don't have the money for professional photos every 3 weeks, and I suck at being healthy, eating organics and doing prenatal yoga and all that. I walk across campus to get to classes for exercise, and then eat cereal when I get home because I'm too fat and tired to throw together a nutritious, baby-friendly dinner of quinoa with organic greens and hormone-free, DHA enhanced eggs or whatever I'm really supposed to eat. At least I take my vitamins.

I could go on about this forever, but that's not what this post was supposed to be about. I was writing to remind myself that despite all that, we still have a perfect baby. We waited forever to get a look at our small one, but lying there looking at that gray screen, having the technician point out "there's the heartbeat" or "there's the left foot" and telling us how everything is looking perfect, and joking about how the baby was excited to show off, for at least a little while it didn't matter that we don't have things together. It was incredibly calming to sit there in that dark room and be assured that yes, there really is a baby there (because sometimes it still seems incredibly unreal) and that everything is going great. Heck, the baby kicks all the time and it's still unreal, and I go back and look at that picture saved as the background on my phone, where the baby's hand is scratching its head and it looks like it's smiling and I just have to smile too (and maybe cry a little bit, because that's what pregnant ladies do). And sometimes I have to look at that picture when I start feeling overwhelmed or cranky, and I just remind myself that just because we haven't started dropping wads of cash on this small one (and I pray that we never do go overboard with that) it doesn't mean this baby is less significant or less loved. I'm already so in love with this small one, and I don't have to spend loads of money or have it all together to prove it.

Besides, what else is the "unsubscribe" option on Facebook for?