It's a...

Well, we weren't going to find out. We woke up the day of the appointment with a firm anti-findyouty conviction. It wasn't until we were sitting in the waiting room that I began to question our decision. Kind of like when you're fasting, without a very specific purpose, and someone offers you some pizza. Ben was rather a devil to my waxing hunger.

Ben: "Let's just do paper-rock-scissors. If you win, we don't find out. If I win, we do."
Me: "Right. I mean, let's just do this the mature way."
Ben: "Best out of five."

Ben won. Rock crushes scissors. But I wasn't willing to accept the defeat. "No, no, no." They called us back. My tummy was house of butterflies. Ben gave me the one-eyebrow-up, what's-it-gonna-be? look. Before I could think, we were in the dark room, I was laying on the bed, the jelly was on my belly. The ultrasounder lady flashed past the privates region, and... "I saw that," I said. "It's a boy!" said the lady. "Oops," I said, looking over at Ben, who was too busy wetting himself to take notice of me, or my crumbled convictions.

That night, Ben pulled out his old trucks and trains and began to polish them with nostalgia in his eyes. I began sewing a pair of slippers for the baby. We're very happy. And as for the broken fast... well... there's always next fast Sunday.