I know the sex of the baby and you don’t! Ha. I’m just dying to say that. Actually, I’ve known pretty much from the start. That is what happens when you’ve had a bunch of miscarriages and the people in charge of makin’ me a baby start screening my embryos for really bad chromosomal issues and things like that.
My nursery won’t be blue or pink (it’s a hermaphrodite! Have a cigar.) If J doesn’t bust his ass to finish the house, it will be drywall. Or studs, with crepe paper on them. It’s the downtown Cleveland nursery trend that’s sweeping the nation. But, really, he should hurry up, because it’s getting cold and the furnace still isn’t working here. And soon I will enter full-on nesting mode and start demanding some walls to paint and floor to put carpet on.