I was so sure I was having a boy. So sure that I was picking out "blue things" instead of "pink things" and scoping out little boy beanies.

Intelligender told me I was having a boy, so did the Chinese lunar calendar. I had to cheat on most of the wives tales test to get it to tell me I was having a girl. I didn't know anyone who had had as many thing pointing to "boy" as I did, so I was setting myself up for blue.

I was a little frustrated looking at the selection of boy clothing. Nothing seemed my style and well, blue just isn't as cute as pink. But I was accepting, and knew that at least it would help me keep from depleting our entire savings on baby stuff.

I was completely and utterly shocked when the ultrasound tech said we were having a baby girl. She had a clear shot of her lady parts, and I having studied gender-revealing ultrasounds for hours the night before also thought it looked like a girl.

I was so excited I couldn't help but cry, and I couldn't stop smiling. Having a baby is exciting enough but having a girl is just too much to handle. It's also a little too much for my wallet.

With seven weeks to go, we are in full-on get-ready-for-baby mode. The main project: The nursery. We are planning to move Alex from his current bedroom, below, into the guest room (which we’re in the process of morphing into a little boy’s oasis) and the baby will get Alex’s old room.

Will the dark green curtains have to go? 

My sisters and I turned out OK, but what
if I screw it up?!

I am one of three girls. I love being a girl. Always have. My parents never treated us any differently because of our gender, especially my dad who had us baiting fish hooks, shooting guns and playing baseball in the backyard practically before we were out of diapers. The thought never crossed our minds that we couldn't do everything boys could do and as we’ve gotten older, we are all still confident, strong and happy with who we are. Needless to say, my parents did a good job. But that was a different time. Raising a daughter today seems…trickier. And it has me worried. Here’s why:

When Nick and I were shopping for Alex’s birthday present, we stopped by the clothing department so I could pick out an outfit for my friend who just had a baby girl (the present is en route, Amanda!). As I was perusing the pink onesies and frilly dresses, Nick said, “I just don’t see what all the hype is with girl clothes.”

I spun around. “OMG, I know!!!” I said. “I think I must be missing some kind of gene because I don’t see myself going gaga for this stuff…ever.” And I mean it.

As you know, this Thursday Nick and I find out the sex of our baby-to-be. I know I’m supposed to say this, but I’m going to say it anyway: I don’t care what it is. I really don’t. Sure, I can see why some people in my situation -- already having one boy -- would want to have a girl, but I just want to have a baby. A healthy baby. After surviving cancer, frankly I’m lucky to have any children at all.

But everyone I talk to about the big reveal -- and I mean, everyone -- says, “I hope it’s a girl!” “Fingers crossed for a girl!” “Let’s pray for a girl!” So now I feel like I should want a girl. “One of each!” they say, “it will be perfect!” Hmmm. Sure, I would love to have a girl -- I’m one of three daughters in my family so of course I think girls rock -- but I would also love to have another boy. I’ve always been a fan of same-sex siblings (perhaps because I never had a brother…).

Of course I would love a daughter...I'm one of three girls! (Here I am
with my sisters.)