Mavrick and I pretty much decided from the beginning that we wanted to know if our little Mavbling was going to be a boy or a girl. We figured that finding out we were pregnant was surprise enough, thank you very much.
One of the best, and most fight-inducing, parts of expecting is naming the baby. Especially when you have two strong-willed, independent, stubborn souls, such as me and Mavrick. We were able to agree on a girl’s first name relatively quickly. Boy’s name, not so much.
We debated, argued, and shot down each other’s suggestions. It was easy for me to shoot down his boy name suggestions, because they all sucked. He honest to god wanted to name the kid Blasier if it was a boy. AS IF.
Anyhoodle, eventually we reached an agreement on a boy’s first name. All middle names were up for debate, when along came the NCAA tourney. I had never participated in March Madness before, but, being the competitive spirit that I am, I jumped at the chance to fill out brackets. I like the word brackets. I would use it every chance I got. Like, “Hey, who do you have on your brackets?”, or, “How is your bracket doing so far?”, or, “Boy! That upset last night really messed up my brackets!” I’m sure it was quite annoying, but I don’t care, I was having fun.
I was also doing very, very badly on my brackets. Mr. Mavrick wasn’t doing too hot, either. He had Kentucky to take it all, I had WVU. About midway through the tourney (another annoying word I picked up during this time period), Mavrick decided to make the rest of our brackets interesting, and slap a bet down (sidenote: Mavrick and I make a lot of stupid bets with each other. It’s like we can’t help it. We love nothing more than being right and winning. It’s a sickness.)
We were playing for middle name rights. Winner got to pick whatever they wanted. Loser had no veto power. This was some massive, high-stakes shit. Was I in? Does the Pope cover up child sex abuse cases? You BET I was in!
Because it had been a ‘bracket busting’ tourney, Kentucky ended up playing WVU in a semi-final game (this may have been a regional game, I’m not sure, and I just don’t care enough to Google it). This game would decide who got to pick our lil’ Mavbling’s middle name, boy or girl, for all time. Bring.It.On.
Of course WVU won, meaning I won, meaning I can make the little one’s middle name SasperillaSmarmyPants and ain’t nothing Mavrick can do about it. Bwhahahaha.
While all of this was going on, I was impatiently waiting till April 12th. This was the date of my second trimester sonogram, and, if Mavbling cooperated, the day we would find out boy or girl. We honestly didn’t care either way, we just wanted to know.
Mavrick was convinced it was a girl. I said it was a boy. Not because I had a feeling one way or another, but because there are few things in the world I like more than proving Mavrick wrong. It seemed like everyone was pulling for a girl. Hot Mama and Wormy were practically salivating as they made lists of all of the girl baby shit you can buy in leopard print.
I didn’t care, boy or girl, I just wanted it to be a.) healthy, and b.) not a girl. I was practically vibrating with impatience. I willed time to go faster, and lo and behold, the 12th was upon us. OF COUSE Mavrick was late picking me up. By now, I am bouncing out of my skin. Letsgoletsgoletsgo. I am seriously the most impatient person I know, and this delay was KILLING ME.
We get there. Wait some more. Finally, they call us back. Now, I had to be very careful here. I didn’t want to come off as one of those parents who only care about finding out the gender. I had to patiently lie there while she measured kidneys, stomach, brain, knuckle-length. It seemed like she had to measure every blessed thing on my little baby’s body.
I wanted to yell, ENOUGH ALREADY! Get to the goodies! But, I really do care about the overall health and well-being of my fetal visitor, so it was good to see that everything was perfectly wonderfully wonderful, and could we please, for the love of god, just get to the crotch shot?
The technician explains, as she is guiding that magic sonogram wand in for the money shot, that often times, the parents can’t tell what genitalia they are looking at, that she often has to point out what it is we are seeing, so don’t be disappointed if it looks like a blob to us.
Mavrick grabs my hand, leans over, and whispers in my ear, “Last chance to make a bet, sweetie.”
The technician freezes an image on the screen. My eyes widen. I don’t need her, or anyone to tell me what it was I was seeing. This, my friends, is a penis.
Little Mavbling is a boy. Wormy and Hot Mama say they don’t give a shit, they are still buying him leopard print. Which is fine, I don’t care one bit. We have a healthy little boy on the way, and really, that’s all that matters.
That, and the fact that I was right. Again. Truly, it never gets old.