There were several ways I could have reacted when David phoned yesterday to tell me, "We're having a boy." (Meaning he and Tammy are having a boy, not he and I. Just for the sake of clarity.)
I could have been disappointed that the baby isn't a girl. After all, we haven't had a girl born into the family since way back in the middle of the last century. I was sort of thinking maybe this baby would break the streak. I was sort of thinking that right up until I heard the word "boy."
The correct thing to say might have been, "Oh, isn't that nice, but it really doesn't matter as long as he's healthy." And if I'd said that, it would have been the truth. It is the truth. (And by the way, he is healthy, and active, and tall. Or "long" is I guess the right word, considering the position he's in, which is not standing up yet.)
Or I could have been really excited and let David know that I was excited. It's cool to know that by summer the household will have three little boys, the oldest aged five. It's neat to know that I'll have another great nephew. It's great just to think of all the fun we'll have with him over the years. This new knowledge is just one more bit of proof that he's a real person.
Naturally, I chose that last option. It's not that I wouldn't be just as excited if David had said "We're having a girl." The fact is, we're having a boy, another boy, and now we know for sure and why not be elated about it? Why not think it's the greatest news in the world? He's on his way, and I can't wait to meet him. I can't wait to hold him.
But I will wait, until probably some time in the second week in June. Hey, that's only four and a half months away. That's plenty of time to forget that we ever thought he might be a girl.