You see, it all started with these adorable bird prints. I saw them on Pinterest after learning that Bambino Numero Tres was "officially official". They were a set of 10 sweet bird paintings, all different examples of common backyard varieties and numbered 1-10. The designer had them all framed so pretty in their clean, white frames, hung on a soothing blue colored wall and I said, "I. Want. Them." Perhaps it was because they were so simple. Perhaps it was because they were just different. Perhaps it was because they were stylish and educational all at once. Most likely, it was because they reminded me so much of afternoons spent with my grandparents-- looking through the pages of a National Audubon Society Dictionary of Backyard Wildlife with my Grampie and then sitting beside my Grammie in their kitchen, identifying each breed as they flew up to their window feeders no matter the season. All I knew was that if this baby was a little girl, our current nursery was going to undergo a major makeover and it was going to be a room that I wanted to sleep in.
Over the course of the past 17 weeks I have researched and daydreamed of soft fabrics, paint samples, lighting fixtures created out of birdhouses, and other ways to bring the outside in. It gave me a little more purpose and drive beyond my typical, run of the mill, stay-at-home routines. I'd walk through department stores and glance at baby items a little more than usual. I paid more attention to details like how the moms at work actually managed to put on their girls' tights or brush their fine hair into pigtails. The prospect of having a little girl in our family peaked my curiosities. It posed a realm of the unknown for us-- something out of the ordinary-- something beyond trains and cars and camouflage. I smiled at the thought of a little girl wrapping my husband around her tiny fingers-- even more-so than the way he always caves to his beloved boys. If we had a little girl, the name game would have determined a winner by the end of our 2nd trimester as it was something that both Dan and I have agreed on since our first pregnancy. A little girl wold have meant having a reason to go out and buy headbands with giant flowers on them and the pint-sized Mary Janes that have made my own heart skip a beat for over two decades.
On the morning in which we were scheduled for our big, 20-week anatomical ultrasound, my anxieties were certainly on the rise. All prenatal appointments make me nervous as I always worry that something will be wrong with my baby. This is especially true of ultrasounds. With Caiden being so actively interested in the development of this baby in my belly, we decided to attend the ultrasound as a family. As Dan stood with Ryan in his arms, Caid sat by my side on a little rolling stool, his eyes glued to the monitor, and my typically shy boy showed zero hesitation in asking the technician a zillion questions about what we were looking at. He insisted on holding my hand the entire time and I lost count of how many times he leaned over and kissed it. I lay there quietly praising myself for how much I have learned over the course of 3 pregnancies. When comparing the images I saw on the screen prior to Caiden's birth in which I often thought, "That's an arm? Well, if you say so..." to the ones that I saw this time around in which I was able to accurately narrate to him, "See, that's a hand by the face. It's playing peek-a-boo."
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| (This image is a bit creepy. I am fully aware of that. But the baby was literally swimming from one side of my belly to the other the ENTIRE ultrasound and so this is the "best" 3D image the technician was able to freeze for us. She gets an A for effort.) |
And then came the moment of truth. The tech glided her wand across my growing belly and asked if we were learning the sex of the baby. Once confirmed, she paused the image on the screen, asked Caiden if he thought he had a brother or a sister, and despite his deafening silence full of hesitation with not knowing what he wanted, there was absolutely, not a shred of doubt whatsoever with regard to what I saw on that screen. I'd seen it two times before.
And I was okay with it. To say that there wasn't a shred of disappointment would be a lie. But I have recovered from it fairly quickly as reality has sunk in and there is no question of what a blessing this third baby boy is to our family. He is another best friend to his older brothers. He is another extension of our family name. He is healthy and active (so much so that we need a follow-up ultrasound to capture images he was too busy to pose for). He is perfect and he is yet another miracle to this lady who was told having her own babies would be a challenge.
My third son will sleep in the same nursery that his brothers slept in: With its' green walls, primary patchwork bedding, and little animals hand-painted in hidden corners playing peek-a-boo. He will wear hand-me-downs and choosing his name will be a source of many foreseeable disagreements between his father and I. He will inevitably be cause for me slipping on loose trains and stepping on stray Legos for an additional 18 years. But, my God, do I already love him to the moon and back.
Not enough to make him homemade organic fruit roll ups though.
