When I was younger, I used to sneak into my parent’s bedroom closet and look at all the Christmas presents my mom hadn’t wrapped yet. It was a pretty crappy thing to do, but I’ve always had a problem with patience. I knew if I ever got pregnant, I’d be finding out the gender as soon as I could. Matt was cool with it. Besides, the both of us reasoned, we had already had our share of surprises.

After conducting scientific research (also known as reading the message boards on BabyCenter.com) I discovered that you could tell gender as early as week 12, even though most people don’t find out until their 20 week ultrasound. Since we’re getting an ultrasound today at 13 weeks, I’m hoping we get an answer on what kind of genitals are being cooked up in there. 

But the real reason why we’re here is the NT (nuchal translucency) screen to assess the triplets’ risk for Down Syndrome. The ultrasound technician gets down to business, measuring the nasal bone and fluid in the back of each baby’s neck. She’s got a serious poker face, and I’m too nervous to ask outright how everything looks. So instead I ask her if she can see what the genders are.

“Sorry,” she says. “It’s too early to tell.”

“But, what if one is a boy, and he’s, like, well-endowed?” I say.

“I’m not even going to answer that,” she responds.

Womp. As she’s taking measurements, I peer at the ultrasound, trying to locate crotches, but all I can see are a bunch of murky blobs. Finally our perinatologist comes in with the good news that the NT screen came back normal. That doesn’t necessarily mean we’re out of the woods for chromosomal abnormalities, just that our chances are low. I’ll take it.

As the perinatologist is looking at the ultrasound, I decide to try my luck again and ask her if she can tell what the sex is for any of the trips. Luckily, she’s game. “You can sometimes tell by the direction of how things are pointing, she says. “I’d bet Triplet C is a boy, but don’t quote me on that.” The twins are keeping their legs closed, so we’ll have to wait a couple weeks to find out just who those two prudes are.

But for now, my curiosity has been satisfied. A boy! I don’t care that we’re adding another person to the planet who will leave the toilet seat up. I don’t care if he’s made of slugs and snails and puppy dog tails instead of sugar and spice. And I don’t care if girls rule and boys drool. I am stoked to have a drooly, sluggy little fellow to call my own. Let’s hear it for the boy!

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