Everyone knows I want a girl. Kiefer knows that if we have a boy, he is to swap our baby boy with a baby girl in the hospital nursery.
And I think we all know that I, more than anyone, deserve a baby girl.
Because boys are gross.
That should be enough, but I have backups….
- Because I am already outnumbered by the guys. Even the dog is a boy. Where is the justice?
- Kiefer held the ring on a string over my tummy, and it predicted a girl.
- The heartrate at my first appointment was 155. Anything over 140 usually means it’s a girl. It would cruel to give me that hope and then snatch it away.
- The heartrate at my second appointment was 173.
- The heartrate at my third appointment was 158.
- The heartrate at my fourth appointment was 150.
- The heartrate at my fifth appointment was 141. That’s dangerously close to boy territory.
- The doctor said it was a girl, and then said, “Oh wait…the baby just moved. Let me tell you for sure at the next appointment.”
- At the next appointment, the baby wouldn’t open its legs, so they’re only 80% certain it’s a girl.
Obviously, it’s a girl, and she’s already working on being ladylike by keeping her legs together.