It’s a boy!
“This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever.”
- Sigmund Freud, speaking of the Irish
- From The Departed
I actually liked being pregnant, all things considered. However, the stress I was under at work was almost unbearable. I was terrified that I was going to have a stress-induced miscarriage, and I actually broke down in Dr. Cleary’s office during one of my appointments. She advised me to seek counseling to learn how to control and deal with the stress I was under. In normal circumstances, I would have simply resigned my job and found another one, but at seven-months pregnant, that’s not something I could do. So, I dug my heels in and refused to resign.
Anyway, ‘nuf said about unpleasant stuff. Other than work, I really had no problems during my pregnancy other than normal things. Even my blood pressure, which I had had problems with in the past, was under control and actually on the low side. Each Sunday night, I’d read another section of What to Expect When You Are Expecting and feel myself believing more and more that my baby was going to be OK.
Fourteen weeks into the pregnancy, I had chromosomal testing to screen for Down’s Syndrome and other abnormalities, and everything came back normal. I didn’t have to have amniocentesis, which was a big relief, also.
Several weeks after that, we had a sonogram where the technician could see the gender of our baby. We both wanted to know. I have to admit, I did have a preference. I had watched my best friend Colleen go through hours and hours and weekends and years on end of dance recitals and competitions with her daughter. I am of the opinion that anything in the way of sport or hobby that you can still be doing at age 30 is well worth the time and effort in childhood. Tennis, swimming, knitting, playing musical instruments (my husband plays bass professionally, and his brother is a concert pianist), almost anything you can think of along those lines, I will totally encourage and support. But dance classes, especially those team competition dance classes for Irish step dancing, are my biggest nightmare. I have nothing against a few dance classes here and there, and honestly, if my child truly wanted to dance, I would do everything to encourage and facilitate it. But I don’t think anyone at age 30 calls up a few friends and says, “Hey, wanna come over and do some Irish step dancing?” I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.
So, when the sonographer said, “It’s a boy,” my first thought was, “Yay! No dance recitals!” I know, I’m pretty much just begging the universe to give me another Michael Flatley or Billy Eliot here, aren’t I?
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