Current score: God – 2; Me – Zip

Eight years ago, I lay on the examination table in the doctor’s office, giddy, joking about the gender of the baby with my husband. The ultrasound technician asked if we wanted to know the baby’s gender. I was certain it was a girl and my husband was certain it was a boy. The technician began the procedure, rubbing warm clear gel over my belly and gazing into the computer screen. After a few minutes, she called for the doctor.

The doctor gazed at the computer screen with the technician before informing us that there was no heartbeat. What was the point of asking the gender? Instead we discussed a good time to go to the hospital for a D&C to clean the uterus and rid ourselves of all that remained of the baby.

Two weeks ago, I lay on the examination table in the doctor’s office. The doctor rubbed warm clear gel over my belly and listened for a heartbeat on the sonogram. She searched for a few minutes. Her smile faded as she pushed on my belly and reassured me that everything was fine. I didn’t believe her. I’m not one to cry in public, but memories surfaced and I reprimanded myself for telling others how much I wanted a boy, as if it were my choice and as if gender were all that mattered. I should have learned my lesson. I cried. She reassured me that everything was fine. I didn’t believe her. She suggested we do an ultrasound to locate a heartbeat and make us both feel better.

In the softly lit room, she rubbed warm clear gel over my belly and gazed into the screen. The problem, she informed me, was that the baby was moving too much – a good sign. And when she asked if I wanted to know the gender I wiped away tears and replied, “Yes, please.” A baby girl. An extremely active baby girl. Relief. And so the cliché about not caring about the gender, only that the baby is healthy, was my lesson to learn that day. I reassured God that I learned my lesson. Score: God – 1; Me – Zip.

The following week, I lay on the examination table in the doctor’s office as the ultrasound technician rubbed warm clear gel over my belly and gazed into the screen. She asked if I wanted to know the gender after the medical portion of the OFFICIAL ultrasound was complete. Feeling smug, I replied, “Ok!” I already knew. After 138 images and 30 minutes, she rotated the screen and announced, “It’s a boy!”

I probably shouldn’t have yelled, “WHAT?!” Poor form.  My wish for a healthy child, along with a boy, was granted. While the technician was initially startled by my wild cheers and high-fives, she understood my reaction when I told her about the previous series of events.

On the drive home, I had to admit that God was up by two. I learned my lesson AND got my wish. Humbled. Again, I saw the world in blue.