Red Screen Door: Number Three

A sunny day for a hike found us at Mount Pisgah. The boys and dog ran themselves ragged and we all enjoyed the long awaited warmth of summer sunshine. Summertime is my time and on these bright and happy days when my only agenda is to spend time with my kids, the whole rest of the year is worth it.

I wasn't feeling particularly well on this hike. The morning (aka ALL DAY LONG) sickness really hasn't gone away and I am thinking this might be as good as it gets. Sigh. I was also preoccupied by my upcoming ultrasound- would the baby be healthy, of course, but also, just what kind of baby would we be having?? We were strolling along as my mind wandered to that one single sperm who made his or her way to the egg first. That one single sperm who would become our third and last child.

We separated for a bit so that Brent and Jack could give Lu more of a workout, and Sawyer and I meandered over to the meeting spot, picking flowers and chatting about the birds and bugs who swooped down from the sky above us. We reached the rendezvous point well before Brent and Jack so we sat and ate an apple in the grass. Sawyer told me that he had to pee and so I directed him over to a nearby clump of trees and sat back to finish my snack. Now here's where the story gets a bit personal- if you don't already know this, the thing about little boys and penises is that they really have to learn to sort of uncurl things before they just let 'er rip, otherwise the pee goes straight down their legs or backside. As Sawyer began to pee, I could see that he had neglected to perform this crucial first step of the process. I quickly jumped to my feet and rushed to remedy this situation by shouting "Pick it up! Pick up your penis right now!" By the time I got to him he had realized the error of his ways and overcompensated in the pick up and had consequently, like the loose hose from a fire hydrant, peed all over his shirt, face, and hair.

And as I rooted through my bag to find a napkin or something disposable to mop the pee from my son's face with, I wondered if I could really do this all over again with yet another little boy. Could I handle one more penis in my life?

What is that old saying about slugs and snakes and little boys?

My aunt Bobbi sent me a package a few months back with these adorable little booties and a note saying "Good luck!" I cannot tell you how many times I sat and held those booties and willed this baby to be a girl. Because, in truth, it's more than just the dresses and the tea parties for me. My mom is gone, I never had a sister, and to think that I would go my whole life without a daughter made me feel, I don't know, incomplete.

Brent couldn't go to the ultrasound with me, he had an unfortunately timed final exam to attend, and so I invited my friend Amberlee (who has really be more of a sister to me over these many, many years). She was heading back from a trip to Japan and thought she might be able to make it if she changed to an earlier flight. But then one of her flights missed its connection and through a flurry of text messages the night before, I learned that she probably wouldn't be able to make it. And so I drove to the appointment the next afternoon, telling myself that it was perfectly fine to be all alone at this momentous occasion and who cares if I seem pathetic telling the receptionist that my friend might come and please let her in if she makes it.

But then for some reason I just started to relax. Everything would be fine. That one sperm, whoever it was, had made it to the egg just as it was supposed to. Sure, I was alone, and sure, it was a pretty big deal, but whatever was going to happen was exactly what was supposed to happen.

And when I pulled into the parking lot I found Amberlee waiting for me. She had gotten in to the Eugene airport at 12:40. It was 1:15. I'm still not sure how she made that happen, but there she was!

So, what did the ultrasound have to say? Well, I'll let the boys tell you...