Apparently, there has been a tiny flub with the paperwork in the Marshall Islands. And, you understand, when I say *tiny,* I mean pretty darn big. Are you ready for this?
It seems, at this point, no one can be certain if I am the mother of a boy or girl!
Some of the initial paperwork from the medical report says female, and the later paperwork says male. Our agency lady says it looks like we may actually have ourselves a daughter. She's checking on it and getting back to me.
I recommend someone over there takes a peek down the diaper. I mean, how hard could it be to determine which paperwork is correct? The process can't be all that long and involved, can it? Why, I bet I could verify my own gender right now in less than a minute!
It has always been my understanding that there is a fairly accurate way to determine one's sex, is there not? The child will either have a little schwinkle (er... a, uh... dangling participle, for the English majors in the crowd) or it will not, correct?
Have I been misinformed all these years? Was Miss Jed from 7th grade health class wrong?
Anyhoo, Sam may not be a Sam. Sam may be a Vivian. Or... someone.
Of course this news comes one day after I removed the tags from the new boy's bedding set and put it, with a few other boyish things, into the wash. Of course. At least little Vivian's blue and green bedding will be nice and fresh and snuggly soft.
But, I'm thrilled either way.
I don't care what I'm getting. Really, I don't. I'd just like to know if my baby is schwinkled or non-schwinkled. Surely, that's not too much to ask.
Dear Sam/Vivian/Whoever you are,
Mommy loves you and hopes to see you soon. And by *see you,* I mean SEE you- as in, check out the goods. I apologize in advance for looking down your pants shortly after we meet. Not the best way to make a good first impression, and it's not something I make a habit of doing when meeting new people, but... There are some things a mother just needs to know. You understand.