blue or pink

Later today we will find out the gender of the small human growing inside Julia that makes her puke all the time. Everyone keeps asking me what I “think” it is, which makes no sense to me. I know what I want (a boy), but if I could predict the future I’d be at the World Series of Poker right now.

Apparently Julia’s mom thinks it’s a boy, but her dad thinks it’s a girl. He grew up in a remote Italian village in the hills outside of Salerno (SE of Naples), and his mother was said to have the power to correctly predict the gender of every pregnant woman. Julia seems to believe her father, the firstborn male, has inherited this ability, which she refers to as, “that Italian voodoo shit.”

We refer to the unborn, genderless child as Giacomo (jock-uh-moe). This was a potential male baby name that Julia suggested a while ago, which I immediately embraced. This in turn caused her to both renounce the name and pretend she never suggested it. But I continued to refer to the future offspring as Giacomo, and eventually she gave in. And so the psychological warfare continues.

This afternoon all the speculation about the baby (What will it look like? Will it sleep well? Should we focus on the jump shot or dribbling first?) will take a dramatic turn. The gender-appropriate baby gifts (little pink outfits, starter power tools) will start rolling in, decisions will be made about what color to paint the baby room, and the name debate will shift into fifth gear. Of course there is always the possibility that the gender diagnosis will prove false (it happened to friends of ours), derailing everything.

All kidding aside, we just want a healthy baby like any other expecting couple. Just a healthy, photogenic baby with perfect pitch and a junior Mensa card that can drain the three-pointer under pressure. Giacamo or Giacama.