This past Friday we had our second ultrasound. According to our doctor we now know that the baby is healthy and she's right on schedule. The second thing we - or should I say "I" - learned is that looking at ultrasounds is not our doctor's favorite thing to do.
Now, we're totally okay with having a baby girl. We've got a pretty good name picked out and we've got a ton of pink things from clothes to the bumper for our crib, and probably even some pink diapers. My mother-in-law got her a cute little pink Jets outfit (which was pretty cool of her). So we're ready to have a girl.
But...
We have heard some "horror" stories about people who are told they're having a girl and "God put a stem on the apple" sometime between that ultrasound and the birth.
So we wanted to make sure.
When we really pressed our doctor, believe it or not I still have no clue exactly what her name is, she checked to the best of her abilities between our unborn child's legs.
What did she say? "It's for sure a girl!"
No.
To quote her exactly, "Well, I can't really see for sure. I will say that I can't see a penis."
Well, I'm not a world class detective like Sherlock Holmes, but I would think the lack of the male parts would mean it is a girl, right?
Not to our doctor who said, "I'm not saying it's a boy, I'm just saying I can't see if it's for sure a girl with this machine."
Our confidence did not grow that day, but we did go ahead and wash all the pink stuff we could at the laundromat.
Secondly, we were greatly blessed by our church family, New Beginnings, here in Indy.
They got us the crib we'd wanted since the day Jen found out she was pregnant. People went together and got us bouncers, swings, clothes, you name it. We got it.
We were greatly blessed.
Now we have to send out thank you notes, which I'm not really good at.
Not because I don't know how to say thank you, in fact, I like to think I'm a very grateful person. Especially grateful for what we received Sunday night from the church family.
But my handwriting is horrible.
I mean, it's like our little baby reached out and wrote stuff and she's not even born yet. That's how horrible my chicken scratch handwriting is.
Sadly, even I can't interpret it half the time.
Maybe Jen will just let me put the stamps on the envelopes.
