For those of you who have me on Facebook (which, from what I can gather, is the majority of my readership at the moment), this isn’t exactly new news, but I’m so excited I have to write about it anyway:
My husband and I are expecting a baby boy!
Come January second, the world will have another dangerous force to reckon with: Calvin Lee Lintz.
My entire childhood, I’d always dreamed of having boys. Maybe it’s because my mom was one of seven girls, and I was the oldest of three girls myself, but something about having a son was really attractive to me. It wasn’t necessarily that my sisters were awful. To be honest, the three of us were really awesome girls. I’ve heard horror stories about what some little girls turn into during their teenaged years, and none of us really went through that. And it wasn’t that I didn’t get along with my sisters, either. All in all, we were pretty great.
Maybe it was because I was a tomboy and couldn’t imagine myself being able to raise a very feminine girl that did it.
Anyway, the boy verdict was great for a few reasons: one, it fit with how I saw myself as a parent. I’ve always preferred the idea of my daughters having older brothers rather than the other way around. I also see myself being able to raise a lizard-catching, tree-climbing boy more easily than I can see myself raising a daughter right now. Two, we already had a name picked out!
(And yes, it’s Calvin like from Calvin and Hobbes. And Lee comes from several sources–my mother-in-law’s middle name; my favorite character, Lee Scoresby, in His Dark Materials; and, obviously, from Harper Lee.)
Right when I got pregnant, when I was really, desperately hoping for a son, part of me was convinced I was going to have a daughter. However, as the pregnancy went on, I had more and more doubts about that and by the time our gender reveal party came around this last weekend, I was sure we were having a boy. It wasn’t because of any weird wives tales (according to ninety percent of those, I should be carrying a girl), but in part because of a dream I had.
In the dream, I’d given birth to my son, and my Mom was sitting with me in the hospital. She held my baby with tears in her eyes and she told me he was beautiful.
When I woke up, it was bittersweet. At least, in a dream, I got to see my mother become a grandmother. And maybe it’s less of some kind of divining and more of my desperate hope, but after that, I just knew we were going to have a son.
Anyway, this has taken a depressing turn, so I’m going to finish this blog off with a series of pictures. This is my husband attempting to uppercut, and then eventually hip-slamming, the piñata we’d had made for the big reveal.