The Cookie Tells No Lies

So, forget science, forget pre-conceptual voodoo, forget second sense, belly-eye-balling, and maternal instinct…and go eat a fortune cookie, because we’re having a baby girl.

I’m in complete shock, because I was just absolutely CERTAIN we were having a boy. I mean, medical science (though rife with disclaimers) insisted on it. Now, they are going the other way. Don’t get me wrong--I’m pretty psyched to know my baby’s gender, and I don’t really care what it is, but I must admit that I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the girl verdict. I keep trying to paste a new, stereotypical gender onto my previous deeply ingrained vision. This results in a mental image of a real baby boy wearing a pink vinyl mini-mouse-style dress. I know, I’m insane.

Anyway, for those of you who like to look at blurry night-vision-goggle images of the preformed, here are some ultrasound pics:

Is she hitching a ride? Telling us she’s “A-okay”? Or offending us in whatever culture considers the thumbs-up sign taboo? I see this and think, “Awesome! She has at least one opposable thumb and therefore can hold a pencil. Ergo, she’ll be a writer, artist, secretary, pencil salesman, or file clerk. I’m so proud!”

Now folks, this one is a little racy, so if you are easily offended, please avert your eyes. Yep, that is an arrow pointing at her girl parts. Now I finally have the picture that will embarrass her on her first date!

Parenthood, Sigh

Well, today I officially have felt my first painful sacrifice in the name of motherhood. A prominent science magazine in the UK just announced the application deadline for an internship, for which I was the runner-up candidate in January. Back then, when I was NOT pregnant, I could have spent 6 months adventuring in Cambridge, HAD I gotten the job, which I did not. I had accomplished one of those dream interviews for a job, one in which you really hit it off with the would-be manager and you’re joking around and the two of you are thinking how much fun it would be to work together. Anyway, I didn’t get the job, so obviously this imagined amazing rapport was a bit one-sided. However, he really encouraged me to apply for the next one. So here I am, exactly six months later, and the next one has been announced and I freakin’ CAN’T apply for it!!! So painful! (A little side note: a tiny certain someone was actually conceived the day I received the rejection letter--aargh!)

Desperate fantasies abound as I envisage flying my 8-months pregnant pod of a belly overseas to England, where I might squeeze in a month of intense science-editorial training before taking advantage of socialized medicine to give birth to a beautiful, bouncing British citizen and then spend five months breast feeding while completing my internship. And while I’m dreaming up this ridiculous plan, I might as well have Her Majesty the Queen happen upon me and my adorable child and offer to adopt us and shower us with expensive gifts and we never have to work again unless we want to.
The End.

[Image from: http://www.sherlockiana.net/antikvariatet/kataloger/sf-uk.htm]