My husband and I are about as different as two people could possibly be.
I’m a city girl, he’s a country mouse. He’s Mr. Meat and Potatoes; I haven’t eaten beef since I was 14 years old. He’s a diehard Reds fan, I’m a lifelong Cubs fan.
You get the picture.
But ever since we knew we wanted to have children together, we immediately agreed on one thing — we had no desire to know the sex of the baby ahead of time.
There were several factors at work in that decision. We already knew we would follow the Jewish custom of not bringing baby gear into the house before the baby was born. We got around that by buying stuff and storing it at my parents’ house or not having it delivered until after our daughter arrived. (Yes, we know it’s a ridiculous superstitious tradition but it has its merits in more ways than one.)
I had one request in my “birth plan”: I wanted my husband tell me if the baby was a boy or girl. It was only fair that he know something before I did — for once. Him introducing our babies to me was the most magical part of the entire process — both times.
I have never, ever regretted that decision. The odd thing was, it made some people mad and some people frustrated. I’ve really never understood that mentality; what do you care if my child is a boy or a girl? We didn’t have any showers (another Jewish custom I’ll elaborate on in another article) — so what’s the big deal?
I don’t have any hard data, but I’m guessing the number of people in the Western world who bypass finding out the baby’s gender are few and far between.
Fast forward to baby #3.
Once again, my husband and I immediately agreed on the finding out issue.
Except, we’re doing a complete 180 from the first two.
Next week, we will find out the sex. We already got the surprise of our lives — there is no news that could top that. We do have a few reasons this time — the most significant being that we think it will be good for our girls to know. If this baby turns out to be a boy, our oldest will be well over her disappointment by the time he is born (she’s already told us unequivocally that she doesn’t want a baby brother). The youngest may understand better what is about to happen if we can say “he” or “she”.
Part of me, however, feels like it’s bad karma to find out this time. You know, the superstitious part. We had two babies that way — and if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, or something along those lines.
The decision has been made, and we’re sticking to it. This time, it will be a sonographer who tells me the sex of our baby, and not my husband.
We’ll hear the news together at the same time.
And whatever that news will be, we will be ecstatic.
Laura Weisskopf Bleill is the co-founder and editor of chambanamoms.com. You can reach her at laura@chambanamoms(dot)com.