The Great Dilemma

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, a little bet was made between a husband and a wife concerning a certain gender of a certain baby that was yet to be born.. The husband bet the wife that the little baby was surely a girl, and, well, the wife was willing to bet anything that the upcoming baby was a boy. The wife had reasons.. oh, yes, she did. Her first pregnancy was racked with feelings of illness, extreme hormones, and about every pregnancy symptom in the book.. resulting in a little girl. This pregnancy, however, consisted of little to no illness, way less severe mood swings, and basically no pregnancy symptoms (with one exclusion: being extremely fatigued all. the. time.) Relying on what the wife had been told about differences in pregnancies between boys and girls, the wife thought surely the new baby would result in being a boy.

So..this is her story. Well, actually, my story. You see, I'm that wife.

The day of the ultrasound appointment arrives. I am nervous and excited and worried a little bit because I didn't drink a quart of water an hour before the ultrasound appointment. I am downing my quart of water on the way to the ultrasound appointment. Hopefully no one will really notice and/or care. Hopefully.

We get to the appointment and the tech person is super nice and really seems to know what she's doing. Whew. She's doing her techy thing and explaining to us what it is that we're looking at. Then the big moment arrives. She goes to look at the gender and... the umbilical cord is in the way. Drat. Now I start thinking to myself about the little paper I was given at the doctor's office concerning the ultrasound where it says something along the lines of this appointment is not to find out the gender of your baby. Consider yourself lucky if you are able to find out the gender.. or something like that. But I'm thinking, haha, everyone gets to find out what they're having when they have these appointment. It's fine. After all, we still have whole appointment ahead of us.

On and on it goes. The tech continues to look, measure, and do whatever it is ultrasound techs are supposed to do. Every little bit she would move down to try to determine the gender of the baby. Every time she went to do that, something was blocking her view -- be it the umbilical cord, the baby's legs, basically whatever could get in the way of this whole process did get in the way. Drats. But now here's the saddest part of this tale: The ultrasound appointment ends. The tech got everything she was supposed to, but, gasp, we still don't know whether we're on team pink or blue! Ah, nuts. We did, however, get a DVD of the ultrasound. That's good at least, but here I was going to be the person to whom the disclaimer paper is directed. I was never going to know whether I was having a boy or girl! (That is, until the baby's born, obviously.) Crushing.

Story continues. Luckily for us we had the nicest tech ever and she told us that she had about 15 minutes before the next appointment and that maybe I could move around or do something to try to get the baby to move. So I decide to jog a few flights of stairs. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Question: Have you ever tried jogging up stairs while pregnant? Maybe I'm wimpy, but, boy, I was gasping for air by the time I finished this little exercise routine.

We hurry back into the ultrasound room and the tech is waiting for us. She does her thing and says, well, that did the trick!
Yes!
It's a girl! She says.
What? I say.
It's a girl! She says.
Hmmm, I think. Are you sure?
Hot wings, here I come! Jackson says.
She proceeds to show us how she know it's a girl and the different girl parts.
This is a dilemma, I think. Now what am I supposed to do about my asphalt pie? I have been wanting one for about three months now.. hmmm...
Then the tech gives us our favorite new little bracelet, and away we go.




Snazzy, eh?

Flash forward several weeks, and you find Jackson and I at Wingers. Yum, Wingers. Unfortunately, I did not bring my camera, so I was not able to document the 25 hot wings he consumed by himself; all I have is this picture of our to-go box.. Impressive, I know.



Good for him for winning the bet. Here's the terrific trick though: I had a coupon for a free asphalt pie at Wingers with the purchase of an entree. hahaha. Yes! Mastermind! So one hour and about 7,500 calories later, I'm sure, this turned out to be a win-win win-win situation. The great dilemma is solved.