I’ve decided that I know the gender of the current “new baby.” We’ll have to wait until September to see if I’m right, because no, we’re not going to find out ahead of time what we’re having. But I’m fairly certain it will be a girl, and I’m not basing that on any intuition or physical clues or how I’m carrying. Stick with me for a few minutes through the following seemingly unrelated paragraphs, and I’m sure you’ll eventually see my logic.
My oldest daughter, Abigail, has a talent that you may or may not be aware of. She can belch. She does not do it on purpose. She does not do it to be rude. It just comes naturally to her. She has a skill that most boys would pay for. It most often happens while she’s talking, so she ends up belching words, which I think high school boys practice for hours in their rooms. We’re not talking just little polite lady-like burps, either. She’s loud. She rivals her daddy, and believe me, that’s an accomplishment. She’s this petite, beautiful, dainty, prissy little child, but watch out if she’s talking at the dinner table because you’re likely to get blown away.
My middle daughter, Catherine, has a skill all her own, and I’m at a loss to name it. I’ve alluded to it in earlier posts. Basically, she has the know-how and passion to annoy the heck out of her sister. She knows exactly what buttons to push and how to push them to get the greatest reaction possible from Abigail. She finds great pleasure in knocking over the toys that Abigail set up, or pretending to choose the baby that she doesn’t even like but she knows Abigail wants it, or arguing with Abigail just for the sake of making her mad. Clay pointed out one day that she must have gone to little brother school instead of little sister school, because she does the little brother job quite well. (He should know.)
Finally, there’s my youngest daughter, Elisabeth. Elisabeth is a mess. I don’t mean emotionally or mentally or anything like that. I mean, she’s messy. That child can get out of the bathtub and look like an orphan an hour later, even without eating. But when she does eat, you can guarantee that anyone who sees her later will be able to correctly guess what meal she had, because she’ll still be wearing most of it. She sweats while she sleeps, so when she wakes up, her soft, fine baby hair has turned into this straw-like substance that is matted to her head. My other babies could go on a couple of baths a week, but not Elisabeth. She almost needs a bath a meal. Her clothes bear the marks of this too. She’s not old enough yet to go outside and play much, but I’m sure when summer comes, I’ll be hosing her off quite frequently. I’ve always called my girls “Messy Bessy” and I think I cursed her by naming her Elisabeth, which could actually be shortened to Bess, because she truly is a Messy Bessy.
Okay, so what does all this have to do with the gender of “New Baby?” Simply this: New Baby is a girl, too. How do I know? Because I think that God took all the parts of a little boy, and then split them up among my children, giving each girl just a little bit of boy. I’m not sure what New Baby will add to the picture, but there will be some little boyish characteristic there. So wait with me for September and we’ll see how my theory holds up.
By the way, Clay says that I’m just trying a strange self-defense method here, telling myself it’s a girl so that I won’t be disappointed when it’s not a boy again. Maybe so.