It's a boy.
With a little spine intact, and kidneys and bladder and perfectly normal little brain.
His name will be John Brennan. John means "beloved," and Brennan is from Brennan Manning, whose writings consistently have drawn Brian and I both back to the reality of God's love for us. In this season of life, especially, a name that marks God's love for us, and our response to him, seems ... right. We'll call him Brennan.
If we'd had a girl, her name would have been Lisbeth. We would have called her Libby - a fact that was not established until this morning, but was pretty much the fulfillment of a lifelong dream for me. I was not one for stereotypical little girl dreams. I didn't dress up as a bride as a girl, or write my name with different last names. And I remember mocking the girls in the dorm who had baby names already chosen. But. I have always, always loved the name Libby, and have always wanted to call a little girl that. Brian, on the other hand, did not love it. He could live with Lisbeth (which means "consecrated", and has ties to some of our favorite people), but not Libby, and it was not until this morning, as we were leaving for the appointment, that he conceded to make my childhood dream come true.
Alas. It wasn't meant to be.
I guess now that we know he's a boy, it's safe for me to tell you that I was hoping for a boy. Most people assumed I would want a sister for Emmy, but honestly, I love the dynamic I have with her. I love that she is my girl in a house full of boys. I love a house full of boys, with a sister who will hopefully help them know how to act in front of a girl one day. And while the jury is still out on my ability to raise girls, I feel like I have a handle on at least what to expect from a little boy. Though, of course some things are universal, and some are unique to each child, and there is nothing like a new baby to prove a veteran mother wrong. I guess we'll see in a few months who he's going to be.
A boy. Another boy. And another unremarkable ultrasound.
Thanks be to God.