Monday 9 December 2013

Week 117- testicle spotting, pungent odours and having a boy...

It's a boy.

We're having a boy.

The sonographer said at least three times, 'I can see testicles!' during the scan so it's definitely, most definitely a boy.

We said that we wanted to find out for Nancy's benefit. That is would make it easier for her to understand.

But the truth is I think it was a bit more for us, well, me, to make it feel a bit more real.

I've been coasting through this second pregnancy in a kind of totally knackered fug. A gentle nod to what's going on in the inside by taking Pregnacare every morning and being so smell sensitive that walking past the air vents at the gym, pouring our the pungent odours of sweaty crotches and Lynx, sets my gag reflex off something chronic.

So I thought that by knowing the sex I could really 'engage with the process,' as one pregnancy website described it.

But now I know, I feel a bit weird about it.

With Nancy, she was just Pootle throughout the pregnancy.

She was this little non-gender mate who I carried for nine months and chatted to when I was on my own without feeling like a total mentalist.

Then when she was born, she was Nancy.

A member of our team.

A mewing creature who we watched with terror and amazement as she learnt to do stuff.

She was never really 'a girl.' Well she was. Is. But she was never defined by it when I was pregnant.

Now I'm almost thought by thought resisting the impulse genderize our unborn baby.

To think about him differently to Nancy.

People have said how nice it will be for Ben, as he'll have someone to take to the football.

But why can't Nancy go too? Will she be staying at home learning to bake with me? (Good luck with that, my cooking is rank.)

My point, I guess, is that I don't want to be making decisions as to what our little baby will like or the things we will encourage him to get involved in, just because we've seen a pair of balls in my womb.

But in the same breath, I did call him, 'my son,' the other day, and all the hairs on my neck stood up.

So the only real difference at the moment is that this time we have 4 months to get our heads round the fact that Tiddler is a boy.

Whereas with Nancy, we had about 4 seconds to digest that she was a girl before her slippy, sticky, warm, not yet unfurled body was handed to me.

And as long as they are both given the same opportunities then it won't matter if Nancy loves wearing frilly fuchsia dresses and Tiddler enjoys kicking a ball around with his dad.

Or visa versa.

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