It should’ve been California!

We had our third sonogram on Tuesday and Baby #2 is going to be a girl!

I’m sure there’s more reasons for the 20 week sonogram than just to determine gender, but gender was all that my wife and I wanted to know. Given our level of interest, you’d think this sonogram was going to tell us everything about our child. However, aside from determining a few other physical features–Baby #2 has the same head-shape and feet as Marcel–there’s not much more information, besides gender, that we wanted.

Though this sonogram doesn’t answer a lot of questions beyond gender, the answer that it does give raises a lot more questions. For instance…

• Will being a girl make her a competitor of Marcel’s or a conspirator of Marcel’s?

•  Will we be better and faster at doing her hair because of our earlier practice with Marcel, or will we just be twice as slow and half as effective?

• Does Daddy get two daddy’s girls or will he have to share with Mommy?

• Does somebody have to be a tomboy to balance things out, now, or do I have to become girly in order to fit in?

Thus, for all the clarity that the answer to the gender question brings, it also brings about some murkiness. What is clear is that the adventure is getting more and more adventuresome by the day.

I can’t wait to meet you in person, Baby #2.

The only thing that my mother wanted for her birthday, last week, was to hear from her youngest grandchild. Because my wife and I had to attend a small fundraiser for a friend’s non-profit dance company and dance school that evening, Marcel and I called my mom first thing in the morning in order to provide the desired gift.

While that timing protected my mother from the torture of waiting, it didn’t allow me the opportunity to fully prep Marcel for her role.

Fortunately, though, Marcel has been around the birthday block a couple of times, now. She has been to birthday parties, handed over birthday presents, played birthday games and eaten birthday pizzas, sodas and cake. Thus, I felt she was capable of pulling a little something together. With that in mind, we gave mom a call at about 8:30 am.

“Hello,” my mother answered the phone cheerily.

“Happy Birthday, Mom!,” I responded. Then, I prodded Marcel.

Eagerly and excitedly, Marcel did the best she could.

“Happy Cakes!“

As is the prerogative of the toddler, Marcel is learning to express contrarian opinions. She does it in interesting ways.

Lately, she’s been saying “I can’t”. Of course, this raises all kinds of concerns for a parent. Is she defeatist? Have I failed to effectively teach her the benefits of hard work and effort? Did she learn those dreaded words from me and my defeatist attitude? Fortunately, in our case, those questions are quickly dispelled.

Marcel doesn’t always use words to convey their definition. Sometimes, Marcel uses words like they are talismans. She uses them like one would use “abracadabra”, like magic words that mean nothing in and of themselves but are capable of mysteriously bringing about a desired result.

For instance, Marcel realized that the words “too small” would magically get her out of undesirable clothes. Clearly, she learned this because my wife or I would take clothes off of her after saying the magic words, “Oh, that’s too small.” Neither of us ever stopped to explain the concept of size to her. In fact, when we commented on the undesirable size of the clothes, we probably we’re talking to ourselves and ignoring Marcel, and what her view on the clothes might be, altogether.

But she wasn’t ignoring us. She was watching and learning and figuring out that the words “too small” would get you undressed. And thus, to this day, Marcel invokes the magic words “too small” any time that she doesn’t want to stop what she’s doing–watching TV, perhaps–to get dressed.

The first time Marcel used magic words was to get out of diaper changing.

Marcel can sit in a dirty diaper all day. That, and her penchant for liking to push our buttons, can make the process of changing Marcel’s diaper an adventure. One of the things she likes to do is jump when you’re changing her diaper, no matter how much poop.

The first time–well, the first few weeks–I didn’t realize that she was playing. I feared that, in my unfamiliarity with cleaning a girl’s bottom, that I might have been making mistakes. I feared that I might have been causing my little girl pain. So I often asked, “Did I hurt you?”

Marcel picked up on my hesitancy right away. Before long, whenever I tried to change her, she’d exclaim, “I hurt!“, giggling the whole while. Unfortunately for me, it took me awhile–and some pestering my wife with questions and even a trip to the pediatrician–before I caught on.

But caught on I did, just in time for the “I can’t”s. By the time of the “I can’t”s, I had realized that this wasn’t evidence of Marcel defeatist attitude, but of her triumphant spirit. In Marcel’s lingo, “I can’t” isn’t a surrender, but a successful strategy. For Marcel, it’s magic.

On Thursday, Marcel wanted to take a new book to school. Unfortunately, it was too big to fit in her pocket.

My wife offered to put the book in her pocket and successfully did so. Marcel marveled at that.

“You put it in your pocket?”

“Yes,” my wife explained, “I’m a big girl.”

That wasn’t adequate explanation for Marcel, though.

[But] “I’m a big girl.”

Admitting the truth of Marcel’s statement, my wife clarified that she was a bigger girl. That she was, in fact, a woman.

Marcel must’ve liked the sound of that, so she exclaimed…

“I’m a woman!”