I Prefer To Be Surprised

If you could see my profile, you would know the obvious. I’m pregnant. Really pregnant.

The first question I get from people is, “When are you due?” My answer: “Any minute now.”

The inevitable follow-up is, “Do you know what you’re having?” My emphatic reply is, “Yes! I’m having a baby!” But I know that’s not what these people really want to know.

Our almost 3-year-old daughter will tell you Mom’s carrying a little girl named Sarah with a red ribbon in her hair. Where she came up with that, we’ll never know. My 5-year-old nephew insists it’s a boy named Tucker. But I don’t know the sex of our unborn child, don’t have any premonitions, and frankly, don’t want to know.

My husband says he doesn’t care if we find out or not. He says, “Whatever you want, dear.” He’s been saying that a lot lately. Wise man, my husband.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for modern technology. It’s a wondrous thing to fire up that ultrasound and watch four chambers of the heart thumping away, see those dark spots the technician insists are kidneys, maybe even watch your child scratching or sucking its thumb. But when it comes to exploring below the belt, count me out.

Let’s face it. There are few surprises left in life. We plan our careers while still in high school, negotiate our marriage contracts, plan our pregnancies. We’re even urged to orchestrate what will happen after we die. Why spoil one of the last true surprises left?

Consider this scenario. Expectant parents know the sex of their child. They know what they’ll name her. They even know when she’ll arrive because of a scheduled induction or C-section. Imagine the phone call to the grandparents. Hi Mom and Dad. Clementine’s here. Oh, that’s nice, honey. Thanks for calling. Buh-bye. Where’s the fun in that?

Some parents claim they want to know for practical purposes like shopping for clothes. But I can’t imagine any child would be permanently scarred if you dressed him in pink once in a while or surrounded him with kitties and bunnies instead of doggies and horsies.

So I choose not to know. And if you could see my profile you’d understand why. When the time comes, I’ll need all the help I can get. And finding out if this baby is a little Sarah or a little Tucker may be the incentive I need to get through it all.

Editor’s note: Shortly after writing this Your Turn, Dowling gave birth to a boy.