First things first, a LOT of people think we're having a girl, which I meant to comment on before now because it seriously stunned me, but, wow, there are either a lot of people who are right or a lot of people who, well, aren't right at all.
I'm convinced this baby is a boy. I have caught myself TELLING STRANGERS it's a boy, and then awkwardly laughing because, "Oh, wait. That's right. We don't know yet." I don't know if my strong boy premonitions are because I don't really like pink or because the Bratz dolls terrify me or because I really don't want to raise myself or if I actually, in-my-gut, think we're having a boy. I can't really say. I'd be surprised if we have a girl, but not like fall-on-the-floor surprised because it can only be one or the other, right? (Or, after watching a few Oprah segments, a combo of both.) Now tell me I'm having a kangaroo or a Republican and THAT would stun me.
What is funny—since declaring to the Internet that I had actually shed ten pounds since getting knocked up—is how much better I've been feeling this week and how my appetite seems to be back after a very long (and miserable) hiatus. Crazy enough, with the return of my appetite has come a morphing of my body from average to bison. My mom came over on Sunday to take me shopping (for sexy maternity clothes, yo), and when she walked in she said, "Jennie, you're adorable." HA! "No, mom, I'm actually a bison. Close though."
The bump is, well, it's definitely a bump. The size is still a little awkward. If you saw me (and didn't know about my current state) you'd probably hesitate to ask because nothing says uncomfortable like asking the non-pregnant woman who has momentarily forgotten to suck some things in when she's due. Funny though: I was asked by one person in my building and I scolded him for five minutes because it's risky to ask a woman that, especially at 13 weeks, and you could get yourself into trouble, seriously. He managed, "Your boss told me today" before running off to hug his wife for not being a demon. I will say that fifteen weeks feels a little early to be sporting a bump, but if you have any respect for Mike, you will not comment on fifteen weeks actually being too early to be sporting a bump because I guarantee telling me that will NOT make his life better come tonight.
Something else everyone surprised me with on that post: the baby's sex can be accurately guessed with the heartbeat and the mother's cravings. Um, this is embarrassing, but I seriously HAD NO IDEA. If sweet cravings mean boy then all that Baskin Robbins Gold Medal Ribbon isn't my fault. IT'S HIS. IT'S THE BOY'S FAULT. JUDGE HIM. (Reminds me: I have to take my ALREADY-BROKEN, ONLY-A-MONTH-OLD BLACKBERRY to the T-Mobile shop tonight, which happens to be right next to a Baskin Robbins. SILVER EFFING LINING.)
What did you crave if you've been pregnant? And what did you end up having?
I think it should be said, though, that regardless of all this obsessive WHAT-IS-IT-BOY-OR-GIRL? talk, whatever we have is going to be just right. It's exciting to guess and to wonder and to envision a mop of hair on a little boy or girl before we actually meet the little boy or girl, but when I was thinking about a baby for all those months, I never wanted a boy or a girl or a soccer player or a musician or even an Aggie. I didn't want him/her to be anything except mine. Now that that wish is granted, the rest is just extra. Something to keep me occupied while I toss and turn each night because apparently with your dignity and a defined waist, pregnancy also steals your ability to sleep comfortably.