The big one.

During my last ultrasound I was scolded for not coming in with a full bladder, so I made sure to chug a liter of water and a glass of orange juice this time before dropping trou and feeling the warm X-ray goo poured over my belly.

The ultrasound tech told me afterward that I didn't need a full bladder for this one. But that wouldn't be as fun as using every ounce of my energy to hold pee in while she pressed onto my stomach.

So for half an hour we got to watch our baby kick and squirm, twist and flip, while I tried my damnedest not to pee on myself.

The tech asked at the very end if I had an intuition about the sex. I said boy, because that's what I've said all along.

I was wrong.

Look at her.

She's perfect. Heart, lungs, spine, bones, nose, nuchal fold, arms, legs, fingers, toes. They're all there. And they're all perfect.

I'm too overwhelmed at the moment to write much. We went to breakfast afterward and started listing our myriad expectations for her. So far, we want her to be a drummer, like I always wished I was. A guitarist, like her dad. A dancer, because I wish I hadn't quit all those years ago. A feminist, because, duh, I wouldn't have it any other way. A daddy's girl. Tolerant and open-minded. A reader, since she'll be a Lavery and will have no other choice.

I have no idea who she'll be, but I know she'll be loved beyond measure.

And I'm sorry, daughter, for thinking all this time you were a boy. Really, I only thought so because deep down I wanted you to be a girl. I didn't want to jinx it.

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D-Day Countdown Begins.

I don't think I've been this excited about something since I was seven years old. It was Christmas Eve, and I was sleeping in my big sister's bed (she was NOT down for co-sleeping under any other circumstances), and my parents had just left the room after reading us 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and kissing our foreheads. That was the last Christmas I remember feeling that genuine, palpable nervousness over Santa Claus' imminent arrival. Every year after that it became less magical and more about waking up in the morning to get stuff. My sister and I lay in bed for hours trying to sleep, and even though she was old enough to see past the big Christmas lie she wasn't too old to play along for my benefit. It was perfect.

(And now, at 23 years old, I've obviously been enlightened to the real goings-on of Christmas. Even more, I've become more chained by religious obligation; I've wrestled with the decision of celebrating a holiday a love and that I grew up with even though I'm Jewish. The reality of it sucks out all the magic. That's something I really look forward to with having my own child, the ability to experience, even just vicariously, the magic of the holidays, secular or not.)

It's now Finding-out-the-Sex-Day Eve Eve Eve. On Monday, we go for the big ultrasound. Bright and early at 8 am. I'll be awake at 5. If I can sleep at all that night, because it's days away and I barely can now.

It will also mean that I'm officially halfway there. I just choked on my water a little bit.

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