It's a...

"So, do you want to find out what it is?" the ultrasound technician asked Brent and I at our 20-week checkup.

"I don't think he can wait," I said, glancing over at Brent, who was sitting next to me while I was lying on the table next to the ultrasound machine.

"OK," she said as she put the wand down on my stomach and started rattling off what we were seeing on the machine starting with the baby's head and brain. 

I admit that while I was listening intently, I also was thinking, "When is she going to get to the goodies and tell us if we're having a little boy or girl?"

From day one, Brent has insisted that we were having a boy. He's rubbed my stomach and swore he could feel our little one's penis poking out, he's gravitated toward the boy's clothing whenever we're at the store, and keeps talking about what "our son" is going to be when he grows up. He's also started calling Bellybean by the name he wants to name him - a boy's name of course.

It's because of his staunch belief that we're having a boy that our parents are convinced that he's wrong, and we're obviously having a girl. When I was home for the 4th of July, I took both sets of our parents out to dinner and took a poll - do you think it's a boy or a girl? Their responses: girl, girl, girl, girl.

I have been patient with Brent, reminding him often that "Honey - it could be a girl," but this has not swayed Brent's firm belief that we are indeed going to soon be parents of a son. Therefore, I have been a bit concerned that he'd be in complete shock if the doctor told us we were having a girl. Plus, he's so convinced that we're having a boy, that he's convinced me it must be a boy.

I need a daughter, but not as much as Brent needs a son. So while I've prayed that we have a healthy baby, I'd consider the cherry on top being that it's a little boy.

"... and you said you wanted to know, right?" the technician asked. 

"Yes, we do," I said.

"Well, it looks like you're having a little boy," she said.

Immediately, my attention shoots over to Brent, who bows his head, closes his eyes, and raises both of his hands in victory.

"It's a boy, honey!" I repeated to Brent, holding out my hand to him. But his eyes don't leave that ultrasound monitor as he reaches out to shake my hand and continues to sit there with an absolute look of elation and a smile to match.

"Are you sure?" I then ask the technician. I don't mean any disrespect, but I would just hate to later find out that this news was wrong after planning in my mind and with Brent for welcoming a son into this world.

"I actually saw the little penis right when I put the wand down," she said. "But some couples get so rowdy in celebration that I always save the news until the end." 

Well regardless of when she told us this news, a celebration is in order.

But first things first - we find out from both the technician and the doctor that our son(!!) looks great and everything seems to be progressing perfectly.

So two phone calls are in order: our parents. But because Brent wanted to have fun with his parents, he sent the following text to his mom, who knew we had the ultrasound that could tell us the baby's gender: "Everything checked out fine (so far)! Pretty cool to see everything."

Her reply: "Sex?"

Knowing we couldn't get away with keeping that a secret, Brent then called his mom and told her that he didn't know why she ever doubted him... to which she thought he was kidding that we were having a boy and I had to intervene and tell her that he was telling the truth.

The second phone call was to my parents, who were driving back from their week at the lake, so I asked to be put on speaker so I could tell mom, dad, and Brittany the good news.

And it is good news. We're going to have a baby boy.