OH, BOY!!

. . . a boy is truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its finger, wisdom with bubblegum in its hair, and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
-Alan Marshall Beck

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!! Intuition isn't what I'm known for -- I never have "good" or "bad" feelings about anything, I can't predict the weather while standing outside -- but I KNEW this baby would be a boy! And I couldn't be more excited!!

We had the ultrasound on Tuesday, and all is well -- two hands, two feet, a heart with four chambers, a bladder, a heartrate of 160, and the cutest little profile I've ever seen. He's got Clint's precious little nose -- I LOVE it!

I couldn't wait to tell Mimi when I picked her up at school, and what did she do? She cocked her little blonde head to the side and ran to play in the rocks. Just what I expected!

Our parents are ecstatic -- now if I can just get my father to stop calling him "Bubba" . . .

And as for names, we're still letting the idea of a boy marinate. We need to practice saying his name -- pretend we are cheering for him at a t-ball game, pretend Mimi is calling him to play with her, pretend we are scolding him for breaking an expensive vase and spreading the dirt all over the floor . . .

Ah, the idea of a little boy is absolutely amazing . . . a dirty face, rocks in his pocket, cowboys and Indians, fishing with Daddy, toy trucks and Thomas the Train . . . I am so stoked with all the possibilities. I loved playing with Jay Shipp's cool boy toys when I was a little girl, so Mimi has no idea how much fun this will be for her (and maybe for me, too. I love racetracks!).

And Clint . . . oh my goodness, where to begin? I tear up thinking about what a wonderful Dad he will be to a little boy. Mimi has been great practice for him. God totally knew what he was doing by giving us a silly little girl first. I'll never forget finally getting to take a shower one night when Mimi was a newborn (after several days of not taking one!). I had just let the water run through my hair when Clint whipped back the curtain clueless and frustrated and said, "She's crying. I don't know what to do. Can you kinda hurry?" And then he admitted that he might get better as the baby gets older but he just didn't get infants.

Sigh. I didn't get too mad because I knew he was right. He would get better -- he HAD to get better because Lord knows I couldn't do it on my own. Clint possesses traits I do not -- organization, financial responsibility, level-headedness, quick decision-making -- I needed him to get this father thing down, and luckily he did. He can also do other things I can't like throw Mimi over the back of the couch without hurting her and make her cackle for ten minutes. He can feed her cereal getting her completely drenched in milk and not care one bit that her smocked outfit will have to be changed and stain-treated. He will let her dig her little fingers deep in the dirt and then smush it in her hair while not stopping her. He lets Mimi be Mimi so she knows that she is smart and her opinions do matter. I chase her around with baby wipes and take crayons away from her when she colors on the dishwasher. This little boy needs Clint Darby to be his father so he will know that he is good enough. And I kinda think Clint needs him for the same reason . . .