Boy/Girl, Girl/Girl, Boy/Boy: Determining the Sex of Our Twins
Going back to a previous post, I said that the first question people ask when you tell them you’re pregnant is “Do you know what you’re having?”
Of course, my answer is usually “Well I’m hoping for a big screen, but odds are that it’ll be children.” This gets a polite smile, or sometimes a light laugh; both are usually drowned out by loud guffaws (I never get tired of that joke).
A week from tomorrow, we go in for our 20 week ultrasound (BTW, Ultrasound is a great name for a Soundgarden tribute band). Doc Tres told us that they would definitely be able to tell the twins’ sex at that time.
P.Pie really wants to know; I’m not so sure.
Hear me out.
When I was 13 or 14 and my sister, Tintin, was 8 or 9, and Christmas was six weeks away, we happened upon mom’s stash of Christmas presents at our fraternal grandparents’ house. Not one or two, but all of them.
And ‘happened upon’ is not the right term; ‘purposely hunted for’ is closer to the truth (‘maniacally sought after’ would also be correct).
The presents were all wrapped and ready to go. I felt a little like Indiana Jones in the opening
scene of “Raiders of the Lost Ark”; I didn’t want to grab too fast, for fear of setting off a trap.
We went back to my grandmother’s desk, grabbed a letter opener and the scotch tape, and returned to the hall closet.
Carefully, with the skill and precision of a gifted surgeon, I slit open the first present, one labeled for Tintin. Cautious not to tear the wrapping or leave any signs that we had disturbed it, I re-taped her gift and opened one of mine. (the gift inside has long been forgotten; only the memory of the deed remains)
After two gifts, Tintin started to feel guilty and wanted to quit. I heckled her with such daunting barbs as “don’t be a baby” or the ever popular “bock, bock, bock”. But her mind was made up, she couldn’t be swayed.
I, on the other hand, was drunk with the thought of Christmas loot before Christmas. So the Jolly Roger waved on as I powered through all my gifts.
For the next six weeks, in my mind I played with those gifts and couldn’t wait to actually be able to use them.
But the funny thing was, when Christmas actually came, there was no thrill in opening the presents. In fact, the whole day was rather blasé. I already knew what I was getting; there was no surprise.
That Christmas was the last time I actively searched for presents.
Yes, finding out the sex of your twins is different.
People will argue that you need to know the sex for toys and clothes; and what about the nursery? They make tons of gender neutral clothes and toys, and I’ll do the same for the nursery.
Of course, part of me still wants to peel back the wrapping and take a look…
Of course, my answer is usually “Well I’m hoping for a big screen, but odds are that it’ll be children.” This gets a polite smile, or sometimes a light laugh; both are usually drowned out by loud guffaws (I never get tired of that joke).
A week from tomorrow, we go in for our 20 week ultrasound (BTW, Ultrasound is a great name for a Soundgarden tribute band). Doc Tres told us that they would definitely be able to tell the twins’ sex at that time.
P.Pie really wants to know; I’m not so sure.
Hear me out.
When I was 13 or 14 and my sister, Tintin, was 8 or 9, and Christmas was six weeks away, we happened upon mom’s stash of Christmas presents at our fraternal grandparents’ house. Not one or two, but all of them.
And ‘happened upon’ is not the right term; ‘purposely hunted for’ is closer to the truth (‘maniacally sought after’ would also be correct).
The presents were all wrapped and ready to go. I felt a little like Indiana Jones in the opening
scene of “Raiders of the Lost Ark”; I didn’t want to grab too fast, for fear of setting off a trap.We went back to my grandmother’s desk, grabbed a letter opener and the scotch tape, and returned to the hall closet.
Carefully, with the skill and precision of a gifted surgeon, I slit open the first present, one labeled for Tintin. Cautious not to tear the wrapping or leave any signs that we had disturbed it, I re-taped her gift and opened one of mine. (the gift inside has long been forgotten; only the memory of the deed remains)
After two gifts, Tintin started to feel guilty and wanted to quit. I heckled her with such daunting barbs as “don’t be a baby” or the ever popular “bock, bock, bock”. But her mind was made up, she couldn’t be swayed.
I, on the other hand, was drunk with the thought of Christmas loot before Christmas. So the Jolly Roger waved on as I powered through all my gifts.
For the next six weeks, in my mind I played with those gifts and couldn’t wait to actually be able to use them.
But the funny thing was, when Christmas actually came, there was no thrill in opening the presents. In fact, the whole day was rather blasé. I already knew what I was getting; there was no surprise.
That Christmas was the last time I actively searched for presents.
Yes, finding out the sex of your twins is different.
People will argue that you need to know the sex for toys and clothes; and what about the nursery? They make tons of gender neutral clothes and toys, and I’ll do the same for the nursery.
Of course, part of me still wants to peel back the wrapping and take a look…
posted by Rob Barron at 10:07 PM
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