Today I attended a "gender reveal" party, something that didn't exist a couple of decades ago when I had my kids. The mom-to-be, my one and only niece and her husband hosted the event attended by family and friends, eager to learn whether they would be buying dresses or overalls for the highly anticipated winter arrival. An avid baker, my niece decided cupcakes filled with either blue or pink icing would be an appropriate message delivery system. I can't argue. In fact, from now on I want all communication from all sources to come inside chocolatey desserts.
Anyway, at the count of three we all bit into our yummy treats to discover that we were about to welcome a little boy into the family. Those who had correctly predicted the gender gloated; those who had not, pouted and took another bite of their consolation prize. As I watched the future parents being hugged and congratulated, I couldn't help thinking about my own children's entry into the world - one's gender a surprise until the last; one's known a couple of weeks before.
Our daughter was born in January, almost exactly when this new little guy is expected. It was one of the coldest, snowiest Januarys on record and all I was worried about was whether I would end up making it to the hospital or end up on the ten o'clock news having delivered my first child in the back of our car in the middle of a blizzard. (Note to niece: do not pick a hospital thirty minutes from your house!) When she safely popped out via C-section, I was so thrilled that everyone was okay (and not frozen in the middle of a snowbank), I barely had a chance to register my delight at having a little girl. I had secretly hoped for a daughter and now I had one.
The next time around, we had an ultrasound shortly before our son's birth to assess his size. When the doctor asked if we wanted to know the gender, we hemmed and hawed a bit, wondering if we would be short-changing ourselves from the big delivery room surprise. But curiosity won out and we left the office knowing we would be welcoming a son (although it still took us five days to name him after his birth). When he finally made his appearance, I soon found out that he was everything I never knew I always wanted.
In the end, the way we learned our children's gender didn't matter. In the delivery room or in your doctor's office, learning the sex of your baby is a monumental moment. Once "it" becomes he or she, something changes. "It" becomes your son or your daughter and everything becomes very, very real.
And very, very wonderful.
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