Flip a coin, hope for heads, get tails, cry.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I decided to ask everyone in our family whether they thought I was having a boy or girl. I thought it might be fun to write down in her baby book that everyone related to us hoped she’d be a boy!
There were some family members that made it well-known that they wanted a certain gender. Girl. Boy. Twins! (Yes, for some reason, there were people that were sure I was having twins at 16 weeks.)
Then there were the people that couldn’t decide. They’d stand there, much like an annoying person at a fast-food restaurant that can’t make up his mind (It is a hamburger! Get the freaking hamburger!) going back and forth, back and forth.
Come on, buddy. Boy or girl, you have a fifty/fifty chance of getting it right.
If someone, by chance, decided to ask me my preference, they made a big deal when I told them I hoped to have a girl.
“What if you have a boy,” they’d ask. I’m not sure what they expected me to say. I’d give the baby back? Refuse to go into labor?
Figuring I’d give them what they came for, I’d fire off my snarky comeback: “I’d cry.”
For some reason, nobody ever liked that answer.