Yesterday was one heck of an eventful day. My sister and brother-in-law threw us a wonderful brunch so that with our family and close friends we could find out Baby F's sex.

They had me do some of the old-wives' tricks to divine the sex. I unwittingly sat on a chair under which there was a knife, which in Cuban folklore means you're having in a boy. Then I tied a ring on a ring and held it in front of my belly, and it moved in a circular motion, which means... a boy.

I didn't know how the actual reveal would happen and kept thinking I'd bite into a croissant and discover a little pink or blue plastic baby, but finally, my sister brought out a piñata, one side decorated in pink, the other in blue. By now I'd been yammering on for over an hour about how sure I was about this baby being a girl and was about to explode if I didn't find out, like, NOW, what it actually was.

So what is it? Is my Baby F a girl or a boy?

Let's review the tape:

I crack up every time I see this video, and I've seen it like 50 times now. I'm pretty sure that's me (for reference, I'm on the right in a purplish blue top and Jevo's on the left in an aqua top) yelling, "OOHH NOOO," and there's really no mistaking my utter shock, because that's exactly what I felt, very much so.

What the video doesn't capture is that my eyes instantly filled with tears as Baby F very suddenly became insanely real and wonderful and amazing to me. I'd so completely accepted that I was having a girl that I'd just not imagined, not at all, that I could in fact be carrying a boy. And yet, three seconds after finding out, I loved that baby a million times more and was already praying for a continued healthy pregnancy, a healthy labor and most important of all, a healthy baby.

A boy. I'm having a boy. We will be parents to two sons. Max is thrilled, even though he'd said he was "dying for a baby sister." After things had quieted down I asked him how he felt to know it'd be a brother, not a sister, and he said, "I'm so happy my heart feels like it's going to explode with love." 

Could I ask for anything more?

I have, anyway. I have felt less willing to share details about his life because I see his life growing more complicated, and don't feel anymore that it's "safe" to be as open about him. Plus, I feel more aware of his individuality, separate from me as my possession, and I must respect that there are things that might bother him to know are out on the Internet for the world to see.

I'm comfortable writing about him still when it's something that's really about me - my feelings about being his mother, how he affects me, how an experience affects me, etc. But his stories, I prefer to stay away from. Kindergarten last year brought a lot of difficult times, things that are normal but unpleasant, and it was in living though it that I realized that I don't want to write about his challenges or about him when it's just about him and his life. I don't know what the future holds, what unintended consequences there might be to my words. This is the right decision for me.

Still, he is everything to me and it's impossible to remove him from here. And as I've watched him approach seven and reflect on his first three weeks of first grade, I'm struck by the speed of time and his growth in individuality and into independence. He still straddles a line, where he can be a little man one moment, and a snuggly baby the next. He remains incredibly affectionate with me, and I still can't tell if this is part of his development or just who he is. I'd be thrilled if he was always affectionate with me, but I treat it always as something I will lose. I tease him about it, how he will one day be a teenager and I'll be his lame mommy and he won't want to kiss me or have me hanging around. The reply he always gives me slays me: "But why would I do that, mommy? You're my favorite person ever." And when I explain that it's normal, that kids sometimes want to not be so close to their parents, he tells me, "But why wouldn't I want to be with you when I love you the most in this world?" That he truly feels that way means everything to me, but I think I know better.

He would disagree, not just because it is he who knows best, but because it is in his nature to take an opposite stance and push back, talking a topic to death till you just want to seal your ears shut. He might be a bit like me in this way...

My quirky, sweet, crazily intelligent, open, dramatic, imaginative, funny son is seven, a big boy who continues to amaze me and inspire me and frustrate me and impress me. 

Despite all this evidence to the contrary, he is my baby still.

Happy birthday, kiddo. Your other dad and I love you like crazy.


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