Wednesday, March 19, 2014

The only time I'll ever admit to watching Maury.

Today was the day for the big ultrasound. I showed up to the clinic and checked in like I normally do. Then they called me up to the counter and said, "Haha, we were just kidding, you can't have your ultrasound today! Even though we told you to schedule it for right now, we still can't do it for you for another 10 days. You're not pregnant enough! Come back next time!"

Then I showed them my fist and said, "Would you like a knuckle sandwich?" and they all started quaking in their boots and changed their minds and said I could have the ultrasound after all.

(Or maybe I just whined and pointed out that they told me to schedule my appointment for today and that it is really hard to get a babysitter for two small boys and then drive out to the middle of nowhere for an appointment over a long bumpy road with a full bladder. Also, Can't you just try so I don't have to go through this whole thing again?)

They took pity on me and let me have the scan done today, and guess what! It worked out just fine. Just like Google said it would.  Just like all of the baby books said. Just like I thought it would. They got all of their measurements and whatever else they needed more easily than they did with either of my other kids. For all of the stink they made, they really had no reason to complain in the end.

Now I'm the only one left with anything to complain about, because I have to save and organize 4,000 more boxes of boy clothes for the rest of my life.

Yeah. We're having another boy.

Although, if I had to guess from this picture I would have gone with a squirrel or something with claws.
 Ugh. I was so looking forward to getting rid of that stuff. I hate the sorting. I hate the boxing and unboxing. I hate playing the game of looking at stains and wondering, "Will this come out? Should I try to scrub this clean? Do I give up and throw this away?"

This morning while we were all getting ready, Jared quoted his favorite line from an old Maury episode we watched back in the days when we had no Netflix and only two broadcast channels.

"Those babies ain't mine; I can't make girls!"

The strung out guy on the TV show was right in the end: the baby girls weren't his. And I guess it turns out that Jared is in the same boat as that guy. Now he will forever joke that he "can't have girls."

Who can argue with the science and knowledge showcased on Maury Povich? Certainly not I.

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