"Mama, I have something to tell the baby," Julia announces first thing in the morning.
"What is it?" I ask.
She lifts up my shirt, and sort of yells at my belly, the way people sometimes do when they’re talking to a deaf person or someone who speaks another language:
"Baby? There are 7 days in a week."
Then she pulls my shirt back down decisively and looks up at me. "I just wanted to tell her that so she’ll be smart when she starts school."
She. Julia is convinced that this baby is a girl. In fact, our girly girl will accept nothing less than another girly girl. No boys, no how, no way. Will and I have tried to explain: "Now, Juje, remember… you don’t get to pick whether or not you’re having a girl or a boy. You get what you get, and you don’t get upset," we singsong, mimicking her preschool teacher.
Julia looks at us like we have three heads. Because, of course, this baby is a girl. She’s even picked out a name: "Lilacs Rosella Rousmaniere." So, that settles it.
"The baby" gave Julia a sparkly angel pin to wear on her shirt. "How did the baby know I would love it?!" Julia screeched when she opened it up. "Look, mama, it’s wrapped in pink tissue paper (a detail I failed to notice when the cashier at the gift shop wrapped it up for me)… that means we’re having a girl!!!"
Julia’s banking on a sister. I’m banking on a healthy baby. And if he or she is anything like the two I have now, I’ll be all set. And somehow, I think that if fate gives Julia another baby brother, she'll be OK with that. Even as I'm writing this, she's in her bedroom with Charlie, helping him get "fancy" for a birthday party, and I overhear her asking: "Charlie, are you ready for the lipstick?"
Join Fit Pregnancy.com's Managing Editor Dana Rousmaniere each week as she blogs about her third pregnancy.