Before Jonathan was born, there was much speculation about his gender, as we intentionally didn’t find out on the many occasions we could have. The general consensus among the folks at church was that it would be a boy. They based this, apparently, on the fact that I was “carrying high” and that I didn’t “even look pregnant from the back.” I tried to tell them that people said the same thing when I was pregnant with Harper, too, and they were wrong.
But the truth was, I thought it was a boy, too. I based my assumptions not on the way I was carrying the baby (is that really a thing, anyway?) but on statistics: About the time Harper was born, we had several friends who also had girls. So many, in fact, that I was really a little surprised that Harper was a girl; I thought surely, somebody has to have some boys to carry on the human race. So this time around, especially when those same friends’ second children turned out to be girls as well, I was pretty sure we weren’t going to beat those odds again. I was right, and wasn’t all that surprised when the midwife held up the baby and we could finally see the body parts that we’d so carefully avoided on every ultrasound. (I’ve thought since, though, that I might not have been all that surprised by a girl, either. When there’s only two choices, how surprised can you be?)
Now that he’s here and we can finally get rid of all those pink baby clothes we’ve been hanging on to for four years, I have to admit that boy clothes are pretty fun. He looks good in blue. The trucks and dinosaurs are a nice change from all the flowery princess stuff. And we’ve had a number of boys-versus-girls rounds of hide and seek around here lately, so even Harper (who was the only person who was totally sure the baby would be a girl) seems pleased with the gender ratio.
But I have to say that the best part of having a baby boy is the urinary sprinkler system, which has inspired no small amount of laughter and consternation (depending on who is doing the diaper changing at the moment). On Saturday night, as Harper and I were preparing to give Jonathan a bath, Rob had taken him in the other room to take off his clothes and brought him back to the bathroom wrapped only in a light blanket. Just as he came in the door, Jonathan started peeing, a thin spurt of urine that seemed to be erupting out of Rob’s arms. The way Rob was holding him, though, meant that he couldn’t see what was happening, and reacted to the look on my face by turning quickly from side to side, thereby managing to spray the bathroom walls and floor, the hallway, and all his clothes before it finally stopped.
Harper and I had a good laugh. Living with boys is funny.