Congratulations, it's a _____!
TODAY JAM calls me in a state of bewilderment, all high & breathless off some emotion. She is 16.5 weeks pregnant. The obstetrician has called her at work about the genetic tests on JAM's blood sample.
The doctor, a calm & confident sort, confesses straight off that the lab has attached some wrong paperwork & that the pages are in a funny order. They don’t appear to have the test results quite yet. But she did notice one thing of interest here: Would JAM like to know the baby’s sex?
She & her husband had already decided they do want to know.
So the doctor tells her:
AT this news, JAM has a huge rush of emotion, a burst of adrenaline. It’s overwhelming. The baby is not longer an It but a She. A Daughter. She's asking herself all at once: Is this what I’d expected? Is this what I’d secretly hoped for (or against)? What will this mean? How do I feel?
More: she suddenly knows her daughter's NAME---because they’ve already picked out one for each sex. She & her husband chose these, but something beyond Choice selected one & made it real.
She has a Name.
The feeling hasn’t settled but the excitement is raw & good & intense.
These are important moments. The ecstatic ones that push us for an instant beyond language. The ones you can't prepare for no matter what you expected. A state like this one can carry you through decades of memory & leagues of emotion in milliseconds. It leaves you changed. You can't predict what will send you there.
HOWEVER.
While we're off capering through the miracles of Life, part of ourselves stays removed. Some people call this the Watcher Self, the rational part of us that remains detached & coolly observant (if not always helpful) through emergencies & delirium.
It's only about 2 or 3 seconds into this reverie when JAM's own brain interrupts. She's still on the phone.
“Wait," she says to the smiling doctor. JAM can tell the doctor is beaming by the sound of the doctor's breath. Giving exciting news is the fun part of the doctor's day. "Wait a moment. I haven’t had an amnio. And you didn’t take the baby’s blood. So…how exactly do you KNOW the baby's sex?”
A short silence follows this excellent question.
“Huh,” says the doctor contemplatively. “You have a point there.”
Over the phone, JAM can hear pages flipping as the doctor consults the test results again.
"Ah-ha,” says the doctor in a lower tone. “On second glance, this says that…YOU are a girl.”
“Congratulations!” I say. “You’re a girl!”
What 34 years of life & a 16 week pregnancy left us cause to suspect, medical science has now confirmed: JAM is female. She decided to write her mother at once with the news, given what a long time coming it’s been.
The doctor was appropriately embarrassed & promised to call back when actual results arrived. They won’t find out the baby’s sex for another 2 weeks, when they'll have an ultrasound.
Hanging up the phone, JAM is now left standing alone in her office, jittering with the inertia of this huge rush of emotion but with no actual knowledge of her baby’s sex--or name, or anything.
In fact, all she's learned is that she herself is a girl.
I sent her a card.
_________________
EPILOGUE:
It's a boy.
The doctor, a calm & confident sort, confesses straight off that the lab has attached some wrong paperwork & that the pages are in a funny order. They don’t appear to have the test results quite yet. But she did notice one thing of interest here: Would JAM like to know the baby’s sex?
She & her husband had already decided they do want to know.
So the doctor tells her:
“It says here you have a perfect XX baby girl.”
AT this news, JAM has a huge rush of emotion, a burst of adrenaline. It’s overwhelming. The baby is not longer an It but a She. A Daughter. She's asking herself all at once: Is this what I’d expected? Is this what I’d secretly hoped for (or against)? What will this mean? How do I feel?
More: she suddenly knows her daughter's NAME---because they’ve already picked out one for each sex. She & her husband chose these, but something beyond Choice selected one & made it real.
She has a Name.
The feeling hasn’t settled but the excitement is raw & good & intense.
These are important moments. The ecstatic ones that push us for an instant beyond language. The ones you can't prepare for no matter what you expected. A state like this one can carry you through decades of memory & leagues of emotion in milliseconds. It leaves you changed. You can't predict what will send you there.
HOWEVER.
While we're off capering through the miracles of Life, part of ourselves stays removed. Some people call this the Watcher Self, the rational part of us that remains detached & coolly observant (if not always helpful) through emergencies & delirium.
It's only about 2 or 3 seconds into this reverie when JAM's own brain interrupts. She's still on the phone.
“Wait," she says to the smiling doctor. JAM can tell the doctor is beaming by the sound of the doctor's breath. Giving exciting news is the fun part of the doctor's day. "Wait a moment. I haven’t had an amnio. And you didn’t take the baby’s blood. So…how exactly do you KNOW the baby's sex?”
A short silence follows this excellent question.
“Huh,” says the doctor contemplatively. “You have a point there.”
Over the phone, JAM can hear pages flipping as the doctor consults the test results again.
"Ah-ha,” says the doctor in a lower tone. “On second glance, this says that…YOU are a girl.”
“Congratulations!” I say. “You’re a girl!”
What 34 years of life & a 16 week pregnancy left us cause to suspect, medical science has now confirmed: JAM is female. She decided to write her mother at once with the news, given what a long time coming it’s been.
The doctor was appropriately embarrassed & promised to call back when actual results arrived. They won’t find out the baby’s sex for another 2 weeks, when they'll have an ultrasound.
Hanging up the phone, JAM is now left standing alone in her office, jittering with the inertia of this huge rush of emotion but with no actual knowledge of her baby’s sex--or name, or anything.
In fact, all she's learned is that she herself is a girl.
I sent her a card.
_________________
EPILOGUE:
It's a boy.
posted by Anne E. Campisi at 7:12 AM
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