Let's talk about sex, baby.

Or should I say gender.

I had another ultrasound yesterday. This time, I got the goo on the belly and all that. (The other times, I've been assaulted with a dildo-like object.) My child was not into moving around all that much at the time. We kind of had to poke at her to get some good pictures. The tech told me to keep my receipts, but it looks like a girl. I knew it. I know it. She is a she. She has ovaries and uterine gadgetry. She will menstruate and develop boobies and drive me insane with worry. And one day, hopefully, she will experience the joy of making her own baby girl. I hope.

Her father will go crazy before his time. He will teach her karate and beg her not to date boys. He will wring his hands every time she leaves the house without him. He will love her like crazy and she'll be his little angel.

She'll have curly hair and big, brown eyes. And too much attitude for most people's taste. And I could care less because she's my baby girl and I can take the 'tude. (Really.)

And now, I must stuff my face with salt and vinegar chips. Yes, I'm very health-conscious. Shut up and mind your business.