I think I said it best here.
But on the eve of G-Day (Gender Day), I thought I might take a brief moment to reflect on how I am feeling.
Unfortunately, I am feeling absolutely knocked out by a stupid head cold! Wah. Small boys, pregnant bellies and colds DO NOT MIX. I just want to crawl into bed and sob for a week.
In a way, being unwell has served as a useful distraction to the incessant 'boy or girl?' thoughts that have been plaguing me for months now.
I am nervous.
I am nervous that I have built this thing up - not only in my head but also, here on the blog. That you are all nervous for me and waiting for the inevitable fall-out if this beautiful third child turns out to be another baby boy.
I hope, by now, it it clear to you guys that our wanting a daughter is quite separate to wanting a third child. We are not having a third child because we don't have a daughter. Three is and has always been the magic number.
But both Bren and I think it would be nice to have a little girl in the family.
Of course, people offer the platitude "Oh, it doesn't matter, as long as it's healthy!" - and having spent five torturous weeks thinking Luca had a hole in his heart after his 12 week scan, not for one minute do we take the perfect health of our children for granted.
Primarily, tomorrow is about seeing our beloved third child again and ensuring that everything is growing perfectly. That is the purpose of a morphology scan.
But those platitudes fail to validate feelings embedded deep within our souls. We can't ignore them or pretend they are not there.
Both Bren and I would love a little girl. Down to our toes, achingly in our hearts. That yearning is real.
How I wish I could say, "We don't care either way." I would give anything to have no strong feelings about this baby's gender. To be totally content with 'whatever will be.' I know I will get to that stage but gee, it would be nice to be feeling it right now.
Being honest about it now is the best way to move forward in the event that a daughter is not part of our story.
Being honest now means that if a third son is part of our story, our arms and hearts will be wide open to the beauty of that reality.
Tomorrow, one way or another, is the beginning of embracing our future.
I am nervous but mostly, I am so very excited.
On Saturday, Ziggy, our baby, turned two years old.
I have been pregnant for both of their 2nd birthdays which helps to make the 'low-key' decision an easy one.
But with Luca, I was organised enough to arrange a birthday weekend getaway to the coast with some close friends.
This time around, for Zig, I had planned exactly nothing.
Saturday dawned grey, sheets of rain falling, constant and heavy, dampening everything including enthusiasm to go on what I'd imagined might be a spontaneous birthday adventure.
A play centre, which had been high on the agenda dropped dramatically to the bottom as Bren and I contemplated just how many little bodies would already be packed inside on this rainy, rainy day.
Likewise, discovering a new park was completely erased from the itinerary.
Instead, I ventured to the local shopping centre to rustle up some treats and hopefully, a birthday cake.
I'd woken with a sore throat and pushing through the insane crowds (no doubt fuelled by Christmas and bad weather) for pastries and a novelty cake almost finished me.
I returned home to a very tired little two-year-old who just managed to eat half a donut before falling asleep in my arms.
The birthday boy spent the afternoon playing with his new toys and being loved to death by not one but both of his grandmothers.
But after we had cut the supermarket-bought cake and the family were seated around the dinner table enjoying take away Thai for dinner, I lay my sick and weary body on the couch and sobbed.
I couldn't help but feel the tremendous weight that is mother guilt - that I planned nothing, that we did nothing and that instead of making the train cake I had bought the mould for and everything, I'd hastily disguised the fact that most of the icing had come away when I'd removed the lid from this $3.20 sponge.
Of course, I am smart enough to know that the excitement of the last few days (visiting grandparents, presents, attention!) has meant that to little Zig, it has felt like a non-stop party; that a two-year-old expects nor needs much else.
But mother guilt was never based on logic, was it?
I am twelve kinds of exhausted today.
Doing a Pump class at the gym this morning may have something to do with it.
But in general, I hit the wall at about 1pm every day and desperately need a nap.
My kids? Resent this pregnancy.
And sometimes, I do, too.
I have many thoughts in my head and not a shred of energy left to fashion them into something resembling a blog post.
So you can imagine my delight that I have not one but TWO places to send you to catch more of my writing. It's a bit like, "Here's one I prepared earlier."
The first is the pregnancy diary I'm currently writing as a guest blogger over at birth.com.au. Check out Week 17 here.
Now, I am heading to bed. At 7.05pm. Tomorrow, I have a facial booked. Not a moment too soon.
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