Last night, Dave took me out to dinner at Osteria Mozza, Mario Batali's insanely overpriced-but-insanely tasty Italian restaurant. Because it was my birthday dinner, two days early, and we have a "You can go hog wild at restaurants on your birthday, screw the cost," rule in our little family, I got to order an appetizer, pasta, main course AND dessert instead of caving to Dave's usual we-must-split-everything-or-we-will-have-to-go-on-welfare-this-is-so-expensive ethos. Fortunately, Osteria Mozza being an expensive restaurant, the portions are small, so it really wasn't as much food as one might think it was. I do wish I'd chosen another entree than the duck with pear mostarda, though.... Too salty for me. Oh well. My fault.
Anyways, over dinner, I Broached the Subject of Finding Out What Gender This Baby Is. Dave had consumed a full glass of wine by this point, and was starting in on glass #2, so I knew I'd get an honest answer out of him. For most people, drink makes their brain go pfffffft and the thoughts go in fifty different directions. For Dave, it has the opposite effect. He gets very focused and can hold interesting discourses/give you detailed, comprehensible directions to places he's never been after looking at a map once.
"Okay, honey. Question: If I had never, ever told you I wanted to find out the gender, and I asked you if you wanted to know, what would you say?" I asked, holding a forkful of prosciutto di Parma & fresh mozzarella di bufalo aloft. (YUM)
"I would say let's not find out. It's not like we care whether it's a boy or a girl, right? And the baby gear we're registering for is all neutral stuff anyways, so I like the idea of the delivery room surprise." He said, cutting into a piece of his grilled octopus appetizer (ew, I know).
"Hmmm. All right. I've been thinking about it, and I think you're right. Let's wait. Unless, that is, we're at an ultrasound and the kid suddenly flashes us and we're like, 'THAT is a boy!', in which case it's unavoidable."
"Deal." And we clinked his wine glass to my water glass to seal the deal.
Prepare yourselves, people, for 5.5 months of me whining about how I really, really wanna know and whyyyyyy did I agree to this? I think it must've been the good-mood effects of my $16 appetizer. But I AM now excited to hear the dulcet Israeli tones of our OB/GYN say, "Madame Janette, eet eez a GIRL!" or "Madame Janette, you haf a boyyyy!" once I've finally shoved Junior out. I'll probably cry. And then the baby will probably pee on the doctor and/or nurses, and I'll laugh. And Dave will be embarrassed that his progeny urinated on medical professionals. Fun times for everyone.
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ReplyDeleteYou're hilarious - such an interesting writer. You need to write a book.
ReplyDeleteHave fun with the not-finding-out-gender resolution! My sister has five kids and have done it that way every time and they love it. I, on the other hand, am much too impatient...
In case you're wondering why it says I previously removed a post before posting this one, it's because I had a typo in the other one that was driving me crazy, so I copied, deleted, then posted again without the typo :)