Mother's intuition?

Just for kicks, I decided to shake things up by not finding out the gender of my baby this pregnancy. Such a move was a bit risky, having three girls at home, and oodles of pink stored in Rubbermaid bins throughout our closets. But, at our ultrasound a few weeks ago, the technician discovered a cyst that, while no huge cause for concern, is worth watching to see if it will continue to grow or shrink away, as it should. Which means that, for the first time in one of my pregnancies, I will have not one, but two ultrasounds. Which means that I have to endure another 45 minutes of watching my little "it" squirm and wiggle without finding out if "it" is really a he or she. It was hard enough the first time.

The other night I asked Tim if he had any "impressions" as to what the gender of this child may be. He didn't. "Why do you ask?", he said. I responded that every time I think of this baby, I picture a boy. And I don't particularly want a boy. Always the skeptic, he passed my gut feeling off as just that, a feeling. And he's probably right. But to this impatient planner for whom lessons and activities are typically planned out days in advance, I'm not thrilled about the possibility of running off to Target with a newborn at home, scrambling to find something besides flowers and butterflies for his wardrobe.

Odds are, we've got a bit of sugar and spice and everything nice growing inside. Please, oh please, let it be.