We had the big, long 20 week ultrasound today. (Clarification for the uninitiated: it took like 90 minutes, NOT 20 weeks. It happens at twenty weeks. In case you were concerned.)

I had some suspicions based on my symptoms that it might be a girl, but then on the way out of the house, I asked the girls to pray for the baby’s health and that we might get to find out whether baby’s a boy or a girl.

Jenna said, “Why don’t you pray, and we’ll bow our heads and close our eyes.” Ok, then. So I did, and, despite not having any particular attachment to the idea that it might be a girl, I slipped and said “she” during the prayer. Hmm. OK.

Twenty seconds later, Katherine pipes up: “Jesus told me it’s a GIRL!” What? He did? “Yeah. And he knows EVERYTHING. Because HE never does ANYTHING wrong. YOU do things WRONG. But HE doesn’t. So HE KNOWS.” (For those of you who don’t have the pleasure of listening to Katherine speak on a regular basis, there are a lot of caps.)

Well… okay. Katherine also has an active imagination and the tendency to very authoritatively share stories. For instance, she has an unnamed husband and a house underground where Fedadoh (her favorite buddy) has a bunch of toys that I don’t know how to use. She’s shared this story on a half dozen occasions in the last week. She’s quite sure. So I was curious, but a touch skeptical. (After all… Shouldn’t this one be a boy? Symmetry!)

As it turns out, the ultrasound tech sided with Jesus. (Which is good, because I did not want to explain to Katherine why or how she may have misheard Him.)

I made a bunch of predictions yesterday about what would go down, based on what I’ve experienced before and how I’ve been feeling, and I was mostly right. Except on two points. First, obviously, the baby seems fine (or this would be a far different post.) Second, in every other pregnancy, I’ve spent the hours following the ultrasound in a weird funk because knowing the gender rules out a hypothetical child (of the other gender) that had existed in my mind as a possibility. So I spent several hours (often longer) in a strange kind of mourning.

Not this time. That’s especially strange, since I really have wanted a boy for a fair part of the pregnancy, largely for the balance of it.

I’m actually overwhelmingly excited.

And basically the only words left in my head or heart are for her. (If you think she has a name yet, you’re not familiar with our naming practice. Our babies historically get names during active labor. At the soonest.) 

Hey, little girl.

I’m really, really happy that you’re coming. I am overwhelmed with gratitude that you’re coming, that you’re healthy so far, that you’re mine.

I’m excited to meet you. To feel your soft little head and hear all the crazy noises that you make and smell your warm little baby smell. I can’t wait to see who you turn into. (Well, I mean, I can. I have to. Please keep baking for another… 17 weeks or so. Wait 19 or 20 if you must. But only if you must.) I know that all our kids come out SO COOL and I can’t wait to see what kind of awesome you are.

I want to tell you something, too. We lost one just shortly before you came to be. We think she is a girl, too, and I’ll miss her always.

But here’s the thing that I want you to hear loud and clear right now: the loss does not make you less wanted or less valuable. It makes you more wanted and more valuable. I want you and pray for you with an intensity I haven’t known before because I cannot fathom losing you, too.

Our family is waiting for you. We’re all so excited to meet you. Your Daddy is such a good daddy to little girls already. (To our boy, too! But he’s got a lot of practice already with girls.)  Brian doesn’t understand yet, but I’m especially excited to see him be a big brother to his baby sister. Did you know I always wanted a big brother? And my baby brother (your Uncle Rylee) always wanted a baby sister, so we decided when he was little that we’d just swap places and he could be my big brother and I could be his little sister. It was silly, but just the same, I am really excited that you get a big brother and Brian gets a baby sister. And your big sisters… Jenna’s a little mama. She’s already so taken with you. Katherine will be at the perfect age to really understand who this little person is, and I’m so excited to see her get it. (She was a little too young when Brian came to understand how he was fitting into her world. But she’s not too little anymore!)

I’m sorry in advance for all the little people in our house that are much, much bigger than you. You’re going to get hurt. Hopefully not badly. But they’ll make you cry. They’ll love you within an inch of your life. (Their love looks an awful lot like assault.) 

But I’m not really sorry. Because you are already so loved. And that’s only going to get bigger.

I’ll see you in a few months. Feel free to get comfy on my bladder. I don’t mind. Well, I do. But you’re worth it.

Love you!


Published by robininalaska

Robin Chapman is a part-time writer, editor, and birth photographer and a full-time imperfect mama, wife, Jesus follower, and normalizer of failure. She’s trying hard to learn how to do this motherhood thing in a way that doesn’t land the whole family in intensive therapy. She has a heart for helping other mamas buried in the little years with hope, humor, and solidarity. You can find her hiding out in the bathroom with an iced dirty chai, writing and editing and making spreadsheets for KindredMom.com where she is a cheerleader for mamas, or online looking for grace in her mundane and weird life. She lives in Fairbanks, Alaska with her four delightful (crazy) kids—some homeschooled, some public schooled, some too young for school at all—and her ridiculously good looking husband, Andrew.

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