By now, our ultrasound to find out the gender of baby #3 is only a little ways away. Like 24 hours. Yea! I promised Sam she could go with us for the event, but I had a little inkling she might not be the politest of children if she doesn't get her "way" on the gender. She's been so very adamant about what she wants, and our attempts to tell her that either way will be fine have been met with eye rolls, and sometimes, insincere agreement so we'll let her go about her business. I was worried about her having some sort of bratty meltdown at the office. In fact, several months ago, when I told her the doctor might very well say "It's a boy," she looked at me like I was crazy and said "Well, I guess he might, but that's kind of a weird thing to say to a girl." So, yeah, she's fully entrenched in camp "pink" and has been for a while.
So, yesterday, I came up with the idea to "practice" what to do at the doctor office. We were getting ready for church, and I said "Okay Sam, what will you say if the doctor says, 'Let's see here...yep, it's a boy!"
Sam: "I'd say...Noooooooooooooooo!" Seriously, she couldn't have said it better if she was taking a bullet for someone in a movie. So dramatic.
Me: "Okay, well, that's why we're practicing. Don't say that. That would be super rude."
Sam: "Yeah, okay. But admit it mom, two little boys...would be a lot. It would just be a lot." Then she heaved a gigantic sigh.
Oh, yeah, right Sam. Two boys would be "a lot," as if raising you is some sort of cakewalk.
We'll get the verdict soon, but either way, I predict a lot of tiredness in my future. Because I've already got both genders, and both are totally crazy in their own way. I predict a third version of crazy this family has yet to see.
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