After our last disastrously long wait at the hospital, both the Rock Star and I arrived with something to do this morning.
It’s a hideous autumn day here; alternating cold rain with bursts of sunshine, leading the unsuspecting out into the world sans umbrellas only to tip down on them again seconds later. After managing to aggressively pursue and capture one of the hospital’s elusive parking spaces, we splashed through the parking lot to the ante-natal clinic.
The outside of the clinic is always vaguely depressing due to the number of smokers (some of whom are even more depressingly pregnant) standing outside despite numerous signs in and around the hospital complex that reiterate the “HEY, THIS IS A MEDICAL FACILITY, DUMBASS, YOU CAN’T LIGHT UP HERE” message. So after running the gauntlet, we settled down into the waiting room, wondering if besides entertainment, we should have also thought to bring a camp stove and sleeping bags.
However, I’d not even had a chance to make it through the quotes in the preface of my novel before we were called back, more than making up for our marathon wait of a few weeks ago.
Our scan technician was an African gentleman with a positively bewildering accent. I always feel awful asking people with thick accents to repeat themselves, as it always feels more like a failing on MY part than anything else, but the simple phrase, “Do you have anything you’d like to ask me?” took a grand total of 4 repetitions to filter through into either mine or the Rock Star’s brains.
The scan went very well. All looks normal, which IS of course the most important thing. But of course, we were also kind of dying to know the gender.
One of our favorite TV shows of all time is The West Wing and The Rock Star has had this little monologue running through his head from the moment the scan technician opened his mouth to let us know the verdict.
You know, 15 years ago, we took a trip to Egypt, all five of us, saw the
pyramids and Luxor, then headed up into the Sinai. We had a guide, a
Bedouin man, who called me “Abu el Banat.” Whenever we’d meet another
Bedouin, he’d introduce me as “Abu el Banat.” The Bedouin would laugh
and laugh and then offer me a cup of tea. And I’d go and pay them for
the tea, and they wouldn’t let me. “Abu el Banat” means “father of
daughters.” They thought the tea was the least they could do.
So, another girl for the Potahousehold. We’re looking forward to telling the Prawn the news, although my guess is that she’ll be like, “Sister! Great! Can I watch Dora now?” The reality of “competition” in the house probably won’t quite set in until the Squid is ensconced within our 4 walls. She is too young yet to understand that at the very least, she’ll get to do everything first, which will bug the living daylights out of Squid.
“She gets to wear make up! She gets to stay up later! She gets to wear a low cut dress! (don’t count on it) WHY CAN’T I??”
Of course, as with any scan that concludes that a fetus is a girl, we’ll still keep an open mind in case of hidden boyparts that might suddenly appear at birth.