Yup.
We're "kicking it old school".
We've decided to save the "gender reveal" to just us. In the delivery room. The old fashioned way. Vintage style.
Perhaps I should tight roll my maternity jeans and pop in a mix tape to get ready for the big day. I'm thinking something with a little C&C Music factory should do the trick.
Or, a little Blame in on the Rain?
I'll admit, deciding to wait on finding out was not an easy process for me. For a Type A, obsessive, perfectionist, planner, control freak, this choice was NOT at all comfortable. In the beginning, I desperately wanted to know.
I NEEDED to know. (Or at least I thought I did).
The decision to wait was NOT my idea. It was my husband's.
I remember finally agreeing to it and him looking at me with a snarky look in his eye in serious disbelief.
He honestly didn't think I could hold out.
I smiled back. (Was this mother fucker testing me?)
Okaaaayyy buooooy! I see what you are doing here.
That's okay. I don't NEED to know, I can ride this out for 9 months! No probs! A deal is a deal. Let's play player! Pop in that mix tape, son!
I've got the power!
Everybody dance now!
Hello my name is Victoria, and I have decided to release all control of knowing my baby's sex.
Thank you infertility, for teaching me how to not be in control all the time.
Look at the baby. Look at the baby.
I'm more than half way through my pregnancy now, and feeling really good about "our" decision to wait. This in no way means I'm knocking those of you that decide to find out early on. That totally would have been me, had my husband not challenged my will power and shed some light on to his rationale.
Here are some reasons why I'm glad we aren't finding out...
1. Infertility took away many of the surprises. And most of the fun too.
Everything we have done up to this point has been calculated by science, finances and doctors appointments. We selected our egg donor via an online portal, sitting at a computer together, creepin' on anonymous hot babes. We then met with an attorney to sign legal documents and write a fat check, to make our deal legit. We ordered medications to be routinely delivered to our doorstep. We had multiple timers and calendar reminders set for doctors appointments, injections and paperwork. When the schedule called for it, my husband was called upon to release his beast into a small plastic cup, to prepare for fertilization. We then made an appointment to drop off said cup (in a paper bag) which we then handed to a receptionist in a room full of strangers staring at us. His daddy sauce + her eggs were then placed beneath a microscope for the making of the babies, in which was then inserted into my vagina via a catheter by a team of medical professionals.
So yea, this is one of those times where we choose to live in the moment and act as if we are normal parents giving birth the old fashioned way. Let us pretend, kay?
2. Avoid the Gender Reveal party madness
If you read my prior post about Gender Reveal Parties, you know how much it kills me to even type those words. Gender (sigh) Reveal. (I think I just threw up in my mouth). I just don't get why we need to celebrate genitalia with a huge party. Is the existence of a penis or vagina really best represented by blue or pink balloon shenanigans coming out of a mother fucking cardboard box while playing guessing games and eating cake pops. Sorry Pinterest, I'm not buying into this one.
We're opting out.
We'll have our own party in the hospital room they way our parents did. Old School style.
3. Pink and Blue is soooo overrated.
I was at a party recently and a slightly intoxicated woman I have never met shared her thoughts on our decision to wait. Okay, she was schmammered, like "White Girl Wasted" to be more specfiic. Boy, did I have a lot of fun with this woman. My husband knows how much I love to mess with people who start blabbing advice, with absolutely no clue of our situation. Especially when they are drunk - that's an added bonus. It's a sick little game I like to play.
She starts with..."Okay, let me tell you something."
Bring it on Ace Ventura.
She proceeds... "I don't know if anyone has told you yet, but you absolutely MUST have a few pink and blue outfit options on hand for when we bring home the baby. PLEASE tell me you have some ready." She called them "emergency onesies" or some shit like that. I have no idea what this woman was even saying to be honest, but she was incredibly passionate about this topic, and it was extremely entertaining.
I mean....can you imagine the tragedy? After all we have been through, we don't have pink or blue emergency onesies! Why didn't anyone tell us this before???
In a very serious, low (slightly slurry) voice, she grabs my arm and says... "look, this is very serious, you have to consider the fact that not everyone looks good in yellow".
Mind. BLOWN.
I responded as best I could fighting the laughs that were forcefully coming out of all parts of my face - "I hadn't even considered this possibility? I'm so glad you brought this up, you are right, this IS very serious!
I looked around - is anyone else hearing this??
She paused and gave me a quick scan. I thought maybe she was sensing my sarcasm. Maybe she wasn't as drunk as I thought. Shit.
I'll give her a second and wait out the awkward pause.
Wait for it...
Nope, she bought it! She legit thought I was concerned about the potential tragedy of only having yellow onesies in stock and needed to solve my problem.
She continued...
"If you don't believe me, let me show you pictures of my pasty, albino looking child".
Heavens to Betsy!
I love how she so delicately described the the skin tone of her sweet, innocent, angel child. Is this really happening? Bless her heart.
I must admit though, after seeing the picture, I would probably agree, yellow just wasn't her best color option. Even angel's have a limited color palette, I suppose.
I let her know that nowadays, there are more options than yellow. Grays, whites, blacks, etc. I'm not so worried, I think we will be okay.
"GRAY??????? Oh, GURL don't me started on GRAY!"
Where has this woman been all my life! Waitress, let's get her another drank!
My husband could tell shit was getting good, and came over to my rescue. I introduced him to my new muse. Her reaction was priceless.
"HOLD. THE. PRESS. THIS is your husband??? Girl, never mind. If your baby gets any bit of these brown skin genes, you are good to go with yellow OR gray."
Crisis averted.
4. Delay the stupid-ass gender comments (well, some of them) until after pregnancy...
I prefer to delay the asshole comments until I'm not completely enraged with hormones, and in a less fragile state of mind. Infertility has given me enough of that shit. I'd like to try to avoid this kind of stuff..
Will you try for a boy next time?
Wow, you're having a boy? I can't see you with a boy. I bet you really wanted a girl.
Oh my goodness - a girl? How will Jonathan handle a mini Victoria in the house? You guys are in for some trouble!
(fucking shoot me in the vagina)
5. Forgo unwanted Minnie mouse bows and "little slugger" Hats .
Trust me, I appreciate any and all gifts that are given to us, but some people like to go overboard with the gender specific gifts, and to be honest, I would probably just be returning these items and left feeling guilty when they asked if the baby has worn it yet. It's just awkward. AND a little presumptuous, don't you think?
Let's save those gifts for later when we know what the child actually likes. For now, it's about what I like. And it ain't mother fucking Minnie Mouse.
6. Dodge "Name Shaming".
I've learned very quickly that EVERYONE has an opinion, and even those that think they aren't revealing their opinion by speaking, their face tells me all I need to know. We've definitely shared our potential list with some friends, but to be honest our list keeps changing. We've gotten our share of excited reactions and really terrible ones. I've found myself over thinking and changing the ones I liked because of the reactions I got. I can't imagine being set on a name and a close family member or friend giving me RBF. It's hard enough work trying to name a human, you don't need a bunch of bitches trippin' you up.
You'd have to be a real asshole to shame the name of a child that already exists. Right?
7. What's the point really?
Why do we really need to know? What is there really to prepare for by knowing the genitals of your child? Sure, you need to have the circumcision discussion and be ready for that. But otherwise, I can't really think of any other logical reason at this point.
The sex doesn't matter. Gender doesn't matter.
Love does.
When people ask me "what are you having?" I simply respond with...
A baby!
Case closed.
Now excuse me, while I fill this closet with more gray.
