And I knew she was....ever since I first started *feeling* pregnant, I knew this baby was a girl. And I wasn't alone. The very first thing Evan said when we told him that there would be a new baby in the family was, "You mean a baby sister." Our entire family (except for Sam), the cashier at Kroger, the random lady at the park, and the girl at the airport all agreed: "That must be a girl, you're carrying so high!"
I don't feel like I'm carrying higher....I just *felt* like this baby was a girl. She is my daughter and I was already starting to get to know her. But I didn't want to admit it. When you're pregnant with your third and have two boys already, the common assumption (apparently) is that the only reason you're having another baby is to "try" for a girl. We weren't. I was afraid that if I told the people beyond my closest circle how strongly I knew that this baby was a girl, they'd interpret my feelings as desire. And I didn't want a girl over a boy, I just wanted the Right Baby for our family. And so I kept quiet. But I knew.
During the ultrasound today, I grew increasingly anxious as the ultrasound technician was taking the necessary measurements and identifying the vital parts, features, and organs. Once I had been assured that the baby was measuring and developing completely normally, I asked myself: What if it's a boy?...I knew that I would feel disappointed, and I was trying to reassure myself that it would be okay if I did feel that way. I wouldn't have been disappointed that our Right Baby was a boy, I would have just felt disconnected from my baby...as though I had been bonding with some other little girl baby, a baby other than then one growing in my belly.
And so, when the tech found the perfect angle and announced with complete assuredness that our baby is indeed Our Girl, I cried. I cried because everything was right. I had been bonding with our baby (as had the Kroger cashier), and now all I need is to meet her and to start to get to know this tiny person who is already so connected to this family.
This tiny person who, by the way, has a name. For almost as long as I've been feeling that this baby was a girl, we've known that the baby girl's name would be Molly. As soon as Sam tossed it into the Possible Name Pool, it was The One. We didn't discuss name selection with the boys at all....not really on purpose...we just usually talked about it after bedtime. One night at dinner though, I said to Sam, "Oh, and by the way, I heard Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da on the radio today. The name Molly is in a Beatles' song!!! So it's definitely The Name." (Not that that's a requirement, although Maxwell is also a Beatles' character....albeit a less than namesake-worthy one. And besides, John Lennon hated McCartney's Ob-La-Di, and I'm a Lennon girl.)
So the name was out in the open, not really by accident, but not really on purpose. And Evan heard. And he burst into tears. "I do NOT like that name!" he wailed. And he continued to wail for the remainder of the evening. We chalked it up to his disappointment over the fact that we had, apparently, nixed his name suggestions of Jo-Jo (also in a Beatles' song, oddly enough....) and the name of our next door neighbor (and not her first name, but Mrs. M_____). We were 100% set on this name and we weren't prepared to forsake it.
So we didn't talk about the name again. Until today.
After the appointment, I returned home to tell the boys the great news about their baby sister. Max was thrilled (he's good at catching on to excitement in the room and making it his own). Evan looked puzzled as to why I was making an announcement (after all, he's been telling us that this baby's a girl for about 14 weeks). And then I said her name. Molly.
And Max started dancing around the room singing, "Molly! Molly! Molly!" and Evan turned his back and very calmly said, "I just don't love that name." I told him that he didn't need to love her name today....he just had to love his sister, which I knew he already did. And we dropped it.
When Daddy got home, we celebrated our Baby Girl all over again and Max resumed his song and dance. "Well, Max loves her name," I said, somewhat snarkily, and within earshot of Evan. He stopped in his tracks, looked at me, and said, "You know what? I think I do, too."
And so it is.
The Right Baby.
Our baby girl.
You can't pick your baby, and you can't predict your four-and-a-half year old's reactions to things. You just rest assured that you always get the right baby...and your preschooler will come around eventually. And then, when you do and when he does, you breathe a sigh of relief and bask in the knowing that everything is as it should be. Everything is Right.
I can't wait to meet this Baby Girl.