Two weeks ago I bought a baby card for myself. It’s light green and sparkles with glitter. In a yellow banner above a mobile of animals—a lion, elephant, owl and monkey—it says, “A wee one is on the way.” The inside says, “Looking forward to seeing that adorable little face!” and in black felt-tip pen I added the words, “It’s a ______!” leaving a blank for the ultrasound technician to write in the sex of our baby.
So dear readers, I know you’ve been on pins and needles waiting for me to announce the results of last Sunday’s reveal. Or maybe it’s narcissistic to think anyone besides Tim, me, and our immediate family really cares one way or the other.
Sunday was a beautiful day—sunny and warm, at least in comparison to the several days prior. Tim and I decided to drive to Rittenhouse Square, open the envelope there, and then have a late lunch at Parc, a cute French-style restaurant right across the street from the park.
Surprisingly, I was nervous. On the short ride over, I asked Tim what he thought we were having. At first he said he had no idea. Then he said part of him thought it was a boy. I agreed. Since I think we were both kind of leaning toward a girl in the beginning, I didn’t want to get too set one way, and I started to think more about having a boy.
As we approached the Square, Tim and I scoped out the best place to sit and open the card in relative privacy. The sunny spring weather brought out the masses, so most of the park benches were taken. The ones that weren’t occupied were too close to other benches, and having a somewhat secluded space was important to me. We walked by the center fountain—still void of water, children and families adopted it as their playground. A half dozen college kids stood grouped together holding signs that said, “Free Hugs.” A nice idea I suppose, but I was slightly creeped out by them. We were on a mission, so we walked with purpose, and they approached the middle-aged woman behind us instead. “Want a free hug?” they asked. “Why sure!” she said. “Can’t turn down a free hug.”
In the northwest corner of the park I spied a quiet spot in the grass near a bed of yellow daffodils. We made our way over and sat in the grass—not without first posing for a few photos. I made Tim hold up the sealed envelope. “Take your sunglasses off,” I said. “I want to see your eyes.” We were both anxious and excited. I asked Tim to take a few photos of me with the card as well.
Finally, the moment had come. I felt as if we were the only two in the park. I broke the seal of the envelope and slipped my hand inside the card. I wasn’t sure if the technician had included additional ultrasound photos, and I wanted to make sure they did blow away. The card was empty, so I pulled it from the envelope and sat with the card closed for just a second. “You ready for this?” I asked. A rhetorical question. On the count of three I opened the card and held it so both Tim and I could see. Tim exhaled. “Wow…”
Handwritten in blue ink was the word “Girl.” She also wrote “Congrats” underneath.
Tim beamed. He put his arm around me, and we kissed. I was speechless, still in disbelief. After a couple of minutes and a few more photos, we decided to walk over to a little children’s boutique not far from our corner of the park. The store was much too expensive for our shopping tastes, but Tim and I smiled at the pink infant sundresses (only $65) and the knitted booties I swore I could make myself ($27).
We had a lovely lunch at Parc over discussion of baby names. Our window seat was warm in the afternoon sun and we had a prime view for people watching–not to mention the amazing goat cheese and leek tart, my iced hazelnut mocha that tasted like liquid Nutella, and the vanilla bean creme brulee.
Our evening concluded with phone calls to our parents, grandparents and siblings. “It’s a girl,” we announced. “It’s a girl.”