I have my ultrasound tomorrow morning. I am determined to not find out what we're having, even if they threaten to point something out. I always waver at this point: I think, wouldn't it be nice to know? And then I remember what a great surprise it was to find out we had a girl at the moment of birth. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
There is the usual pre-test apprehension. I will probably not sleep much tonight, which will make the 8:45 appointment that much more unbearable. There will also be no time for a nap, due to some very fun plans I have ;)
I am going alone to the appointment. It turned out this way last time too: It was at a time when Josh couldn't make it. I wish he could be there. He's never seen an ultrasound.
Naomi is still ironclad in her opinion that she's going to have a sister. "a girl baby!" she says, when I ask her, with a look on her face like, when is this lady going to stop asking me this stupid question?
And what's her name? "Mare-ee-ah" We still haven't figured out how to spell it. I really hate the idea of having my daughter grow up with a name that's beautiful but more often that not disastrously mispronounced. (I remember all three people who got "Kateri" right on the first try during my formative years. One was my second grade teacher, one was my middle school band director and French horn teacher, and the other was a nun in high school.)
We are considering going with the more coherent "Miriam". It kind of funny, two people who deeply distrust their Judeo-Christian roots, picking two fairly old-fashioned and obscure Jewish names. But Naomi and Miriam go well together. Plus, Miriam has the added significance of being the name of the daughter of the Bible's most famous birthmother. I like it.
Part of me (half, thereabouts) is still holding out for a baby Milo. But as much as I'd like a Milo, I don't want Naomi to be wrong. Being wrong is no fun at all.