My wife is messed up. Like, seriously messed up.
I realize she seems all cheery and bright on the outside, but on the inside, she is an emotionally self-mutilating addict for unnecessary anxiety. How else could you possibly explain not wanting to know the gender of your baby???
There is an insatiable monster of curiosity dwelling in my belly that reaches up and claws at the underside of my brain, wanting to know what is sleeping in Lindsay’s belly. It is torture. And if I am experiencing this pain in me, she must be suffering too. Right? Why would you voluntarily invite this monster to hang around for the duration of a pregnancy when you have the means to toss it a bone and make it go away.
C’mon. Toss it a bone! We have the technology. I would!
I want to know if I we are to have a boy or girl. Badly. I know we have one of each and I know it shouldn’t matter so long as the baby is healthy, but I really, really, really, really want to know.
Lindsay wants to leave it a surprise, but it would be a surprise now. It would surprise the kids too! And then they would know whether to expect a baby brother or sister. And I would be able to get on with the fun parts of having a baby – like, naming him/her ß case in point. But noooooooooo…
I know everyone must agree with me, but unfortunately, the decision rests with Lindsay and she, it would seem, is not currently of a sound mind. I’ve tried to persuade her. Actually, I’ve tried everything from asking the baby to tell me by knocking yes or no on the inside of Lindsay’s belly while she sleeps to looking into my legal right. I have NONE!
Anyway, EVERYONE just talk to her ok – it’s killing me!!!!