Westley stood firm from the day we told him I was pregnant. "We know it's a girl."
Bailey, the ultrasound technician, was equally sure. "That's definitely a girl."
Yesterday I spent approximately eight hours repeatedly looking up at Rob to marvel, "We're going to have a daughter." It seems very surreal to have it presented as a sure thing, even though I dreamed twice that the baby was a girl. (I guess I knew, too.)
The baby is perfectly healthy, and extremely flexible. She spent the entire appointment either stretched out in a forward bend or curled up tight. She's also enormous: "Whoa! Seven ounces!" Bailey exclaimed after crunching the numbers. (Fetuses at this stage are usually in the 4 1/2- to 5-ounce range. Ultrasounds aren't known for their accuracy in measuring fetal weight. But still.)
I am also perfectly healthy. My cervix is all right, uptight, out of sight. Dr. K went back and forth as to whether I should come back to be checked in two weeks or four. "Everything looked so good today..." she trailed off. She finally decided to err on the side of caution.
I don't mind. I'll get to see my little girl again in two weeks.
* * *
When I told Westley that he was right, the baby is for sure a girl, he said, "Good, good!"
And then he clapped his hands and literally jumped up and down before running off to play.