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Wednesday, June 25, 2003
Day 128: It's got to be a boy

We could've found out the baby's sex, but we didn't. No one believed we could keep the secret, but we did.

What's more, there's now NO WAY could determine the child's sex until birth. The ultrasound technician did not film the groin area, and there are no more ultrasounds left this pregnancy.

It's officially a secret. So forget pinks and blues! It's all about yellows and greens until birth.

The ultrasound visit, in itself, was quite unadventurous. We had a Cruella DeVille technician who, aside from being unfriendly, was supremely unresponsive.

Elisa: Are the eyes closer together than in the previous ultrasound?

Technician: I don't know what you are asking.

Me (looking at color-coded shots of the umbilical chord): Does that show blood flowing through the umbilican chord?

Technician: I don't know what you are asking.

Elisa: So, can you show us where the kidneys are? (Elisa was obsessed with the child's kidneys, convinced we would give birth to a kidney-less baby.)

Technician: I don't know what you are asking.

Me: Do you have a soul, you heartless and humorless bitch?

Technician: I don't know what you are asking.

And so on. I wanted to kick the technician in the shin, but Elisa would've disapproved. Sometimes she doesn't give me a chance to play my "protector" bit.

We made clear from the start that we didn't want to know the baby's sex. There was clear and unequivical resolution in my voice. But Elisa was less than convincing.

While the technician couldn't be bothered to answer our questions, she immediately caught on to Elisa's indecisiveness: "Seems to me that you want to know if it's a he or she."

Elisa was in a quandry. She wanted to know the baby's sex in the worst way. It's all she could talk about. But, if told the technician "tell me the sex", she would explicitly confirm my belief that she had no self control.

Elisa was at war with herself, and the battle was fierce. The technician and I had to take cover under a table, lest we become "collateral damage". Explosions rocked the room, but luckily none of the equipment was damaged. The "I want to know" forces advanced for one last epic battle against the "I need to prove to Markos that I can keep this secret" troops.

As the dust settled, the secret won. Elisa, spent, sighed and said, "We don't want to know." My brilliant plan worked. I would actually get to keep this secret, savor it, build our anticipation until in the end, in a birthing center in the City of Oakland, we'd be able to joyously shout: "It's a ---!"

Incidentally, our most unhelpful technician volunteered that our decision wasn't that odd. That about half the couples that went through her screenings chose to keep the secret.

But perhaps they don't need to tell us the sex. Have you seen the video? The baby can't stop fidgeting. It moves one way. Then another. Then kicks and pushes against the uterine wall. Then moons the ultrasound machine. Then plays with his GI Joe action figures. Then plays Nintendo. And finally puts the game on TV and settles in what a can of (root) beer.

Having seen stereotypical quiet little girls and hyperactive little boys, it's easy to see which side the baby emulates more. It's got to be a boy.

And if the baby is as rambunctious outside the womb as within it, may the gods help us all.

by Kos | June 25, 2003 11:29 PM