Last Monday (which also happened to be our 7 year anniversary) we went to the doctor’s office and had an optional 16 week gender ultrasound.  Optional meaning it’s not covered by insurance – I guess it’s just for those people who are so impatient they can’t wait another month to find out what they’re having – aka Me. We decided to do something a little different this time and had the tech write down what the baby’s gender was, to be opened at dinner later on that evening.  The baby was chillin’ and wasn’t super cooperative – so it took a few tries and I diverted my eyes, even though I had no idea what to even look for. In my mind I had a lot going on that day.  It was surprising to me how many people asked what “I” wanted to have – also if I had “prepared” myself for either option.  The truth is, you never want to just say you hope you’re having one or the other, right?  Is that generally frowned upon?  Most people say what is the most politically correct thing I guess – “As long as the baby is healthy…” Well, it’s no secret that after two girls, yes, I wanted to have a boy desperately.  The biggest thing I hear about little boys from my Mom friends is what little LOVERS they are.  They love their Mamas.  What woman doesn’t freak out over the idea of a little man who is going to worship the ground she walks on?  Who will hopefully grow up to be just like the husband she adores so much?  Sign me up, please! Maybe that need for affection stems from the fact that my girls don’t generally lavish me with their love (in that way) unless they A. want something or B. are sick.  Sure, they say things like “You’re the best Mommy ever!” – but it’s usually in response to some type of chocolate offering or a visit to Build-A-Bear for a new stuffed animal.  I honestly think they reach for their Daddy 90% of the time.  And that’s ok, really.  The time will come when they will hate me, I’m sure, but they’ll also need me.  Lord will they need me.  When boys turn into mystical beings with deeper voices and Justin Bieber hair – when they stop being little guys they “play dinosaur” with and start being young men – Oh, they’ll need me.  When they get their periods.  When they have problem skin in high school and need Proactiv.  When they get stood up for a party and just need a shoulder to cry on.  When they get a tattoo and need an ally in the house so their Daddy doesn’t murder them. When they get their heart broken, most likely dozens of times before they find the “One”.  So yeah – I longed for a little boy.  A boy I could dress in seersucker and a bow tie on Easter Sunday.  A boy to carry on the Bischoff family name, to potentially name after Vann’s beloved Grandfather P.A.  A boy I could love and cherish and squeeze. Later on that day we stopped at the hospital we hope to deliver at for a quick tour that ended up taking an hour and half.  Needless to say, not having gone through this whole gender reveal thing on social media before (because Gasp, I wasn’t on Facebook when Ella was born!) – I was a little bit unnerved by the amount of text messages and Facebook updates I was getting.  Unnerved is maybe not the word – it was making me IMPATIENT.  I wanted to know, even if we had to pull over and look at it in the parking lot of Wendy’s.  Luckily I have a very even-keeled hubby who kept reminding me this was, indeed, the last time we would be doing this – and pleaded with me to turn my phone off and for goodness sakes, STOP texting!!  That was really hard.  It was so fun, having our friends and family so excited to find out who would be joining our family of five.  But, I knew in the end, it would make for a better memory (and story) if we waited the 30 minutes to the restaurant – where we could finally stretch out and tear open the envelope for the biggest news we’d have all year. We sat down and looked at each other, and I SWEAR – my heart was in my throat.  My gut told me it was a girl, but maybe I’d just managed my expectations really, really well.  Vann handed me the envelope across the table, and I ripped that sucker open: My 5 year old, Charlie, had told my husband that he “could get a boy fish” if we found out that Blueberry (what the girls call the baby) was a girl.  That was the first thing that ran through my mind.  The second thing was, “Oh, three sisters.  Sisters.  How wonderful!” And then I started to cry.  For the sweet baby girl I’d be holding in my arms in just 6 short months.  For the bond that I hoped all three of them would have with each other.  And for the little boy I would never have.  The experience of having boys would never be mine.    Of course, that’s ok.  After I mourn it for just a bit, if you don’t mind. And so, the Bischoff girls now far outnumber the Bischoff boys and indeed – my husband will have to get a male fish (if there is a way to tell such things) or eventually a brutish (with a heart of gold of course) Great Dane – or something like that.  It’s a beautiful, wonderful thing.  And I’m so, so happy.  I will just have to shower that love and affection on my nephews and friend’s children, and someday – grandsons?? I’m sure – scratch that – I KNOW that when we see her little face, it will be like she was always a part of us.  And we won’t be able to think about what life was like without her.  As a sweet friend so lovingly said, “You weren’t complete until you had HER!  And all that she will become.”  (Thanks, Meesh.)