“NOOOOOO! No no no no no no no no no! NO!” I cut her off. I repeated it more times than was probably necessary, but I wanted to be 100 percent certain that she had stopped talking. When I finally stopped shouting “NO” into the phone, there was silence on the other end of the line. I apologized for cutting her off and then explained that we don’t want to know the gender of the baby.
Last week I went to the perinatologist for a routine follow up. Before beginning the exam, the doctor opened my file and chuckled. He then proceeded to show me the piece of paper included in the file with the words “DO NOT TELL GENDER” stamped in big red letters all over the page. Good to know my message was received.
A lot of people tell me that they’re “just too type-A” to wait to find out the sex of the baby. To that I say: HA! That comment comes from people who clearly don’t know me very well because if there’s one thing I think most people can agree on about me, it’s that I’m the Type-A-est of the Type-A.
Things in my life go one of two ways: my way or no way at all; there is no highway option. My spice rack is alphabetized (and when it somehow becomes un-alphabetized, well, let’s just say that my husband knows it’s just best if he re-alphabetizes it before I pass out from the stress of seeing the basil next to the parsley). The circle magnet from the Magnadoodle has been missing for months, and while it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, that nonsense keeps me up at night. How does a magnet just go missing? It has to be around here somewhere. BUT WHERE? I won’t have a full night’s sleep until that little blue magnet is found! One time my husband messed up the order in which I rotate the sheets and towels in the master bathroom (you know, so that each set is used equally) and when I found out what he had done, I had to go straight to bed because I was too angry to even formulate words to reprimand him.
So, yeah, chances are you’re not more Type-A than me. Sorry. It’s still cool that you want to find out the sex of your baby ahead of time; I’m just not buying the argument that the reason is because you’re “too Type-A.”
This is our fourth baby, and we’ve never found out the gender ahead of time. Most people think we’re nuts—but the truth is, it’s the best surprise in the entire world. My husband and I both spend the entirety of our professional lives trying not to be surprised. And waiting to find out the gender of the baby is one of the last true surprises left in life, so we figure why not take advantage? I mean, it’s a happy surprise either way. And I realize that it’s still a surprise when you find out at 20 weeks (or 13 weeks, or at the point of conception or whatever crazy nonsense is possible now), but it’s just not the same.
Whatever fancy colored-cake, giant box of balloons gender reveal methods are out there, nothing can beat pushing that baby out and hearing your husband announce: “It’s a little girl!” (or boy, as the case may be). That is, hands down, the best gender reveal party ever.