It's probably a girl!

We had the all-important gender determining ultrasound this morning, and the parts are shaped like girl parts. We got some truly beautiful fuzzy fetus pictures, but as they are mostly truly beautiful to mamma and papa and I never was able to glean much information from other people's proud sonograms (though the pride is justified! keep on sharing those sonograms!), I present to you instead this representative picture of our daughter-to-be:

In other bad-ass news that's not quite as bad-ass as Katharine Hepburn on a skateboard but still pretty bad-ass, we bought an SUV. Well, a CRV, which is like an SUV with low self esteem even though its mother loved it very much and it's perfectly talented and wonderful and has lots of friends. It's dark blue. Veronica has threatened to festoon it with a Dodgers window decal, and I am going to allow it if, and only if, a demur purple-and-white CR counterbalances it on the other side of the aisle. Our baseball government is a delicate alliance held together by checks and balances and a hatred of the Giants.

I must be getting fatherly, because I bought the extended warranty when I felt a wave of emotion that "my daughter might drive this car." Only later, when I got home, did I do the math more carefully and realize that even the extended warranty will expire a good 7 years before any sane person would put a child behind its wheel, but I still feel like I did my part to protect the family or something.

Maybe it was the Benadryl I took this morning (first day of Spring ... hooray), but while I was watching the extremely thorough sonogram lady trace and illuminate every possible inch of our little fist-pumping girl, my woozy brain was running scenario after scenario of father-to-teenager talk. Why am I skipping all the good stuff? Do I have any hope of remembering today's brilliant arguments I made up in my head when I'm 50? Or is this just my brain's way of saying it will take me a dozen years or so to get used to the idea that a human being is actually counting on me to be something more than mildly amusing and somewhat tall?

I'm having a girl, and there's a 50% chance she will blame me for needing to shave her unibrow. I'm so happy.

(Right, like I actually wasn't going to post it.)