I would like to jinx myself in a public forum. I’m announcing we’re going to go for another baby because I’ve just got this burning, crazy desire, and we’re hoping it’ll be a girl. It’s not like I wouldn’t absolutely love another boy, but it would be awfully nice to have a girl in the mix. With every added penis to the household, I become more girly to contradict the incoming waves of testosterone. Soon I won’t be able to open a jelly jar. This is all the research I’ve been doing to try and up the chances of a baby girl.
First we’ve ruled out help from science. It just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s like I’m pushing us towards Gattaca. And that ain’t right.
I’ve also ruled out the Chinese birth calendar. It worked for Evan. It did not work for Sean.
I’m ruling out times for conceiving in the month. One, it’s pretty complicated, mathy stuff, and I just don’t do mathy. I also don’t count very well. Actually I was sure I couldn’t conceive when we happened to make Sean. Oops. We were just beginning to talk about it. I’m one of those you-know-we-should-have-a-oops-I’m-pregnant kind of girls. I probably won’t have time to synchronize our watches, much less our calendars.
This leaves me with the most interesting of advice.
I’m changing my diet in hopes to make my womb less hospitable for Y sperm. I’m to eat lots of diary (check), vegetables (check), fish (does sushi or fried count?), and a piece of chocolate (check, check, and check). I’m to stay away from caffeine. Yeah, I laughed too since I need that caffeine. (What am I going to do when that test becomes positive.) Supposedly this will make my womb more acidic, killing off the weaker but faster Y sperm. Fun fact: Did you know women actually produce a type of spermicide?
We’re changing positions. The advice for girls suggests missionary or woman-on-top positions in hopes that the Y sperm will tire out before the egg as the X sperm go for the gold as long distance swimmers. Since I know for a fact that Evan and Sean were conceived missionary, we’ll have to go for the other one.
There’s also talk about the time of day having an effect, which I find laughable, but heck, I’ll try it. Since I know what time of day the boys were conceived, I wonder if my parents will watch them for an afternoon or two every month.
My favorite: When making love, keep a frying pan under the bed. It’s an old wives tale, but I won’t rule out anything.
The husband’s favorite: They suggest that when trying to conceive a girl to have the woman not orgasm. The husband’s first reaction was for my well-being, which is touching, but since I’m willing to sleep with a frying pan under my bed, I think I can go without a few Os for the sake of a girl. He was still chuckling for a day or two when I pointed out how many people we know who have daughters. A whole round of laughter commenced for another few days. When I mentioned it to my mom, she pointed out that she had a girl first, which showed my father’s improvement. Then I tried to scrub my brain clean of that conversation. That obviously did not work.
Now that you know too much about my sex life, you can laugh with me when that sonogram shows a little penis.
Don’t worry. I can handle three boys. It’s four that I can’t handle.