The big ultrasound was today.
My husband, Beatrix, and Archie were in the dark room with me and my gooey belly. The four of us were the first to know if a little brother or sister is on the way. The baby looked great—Moving, holding feet, sucking, waving, bouncing, thriving. Baby has a four-chambered heart, full bladder, two kidneys, and a nicely shaped noggin. Go, baby.
Everyone else was at school. I tried to think of a clever way to tell them when I picked them up, but blurting it out as they piled in the van seemed anti-climactic. It’s wonderful news, but it could have been lost in the din and shuffle of weary children. I am also conscious that baby #8 may tend to get lost in the shuffle, so I wanted to do something a little more memorable.
Inspiration struck while I was contemplating what to do for our casual Friday night dinner. Pizza, of course. What is more memorable than spelling the baby’s sex out on crispy bread with cured meat? I placed the order, along with a very unusual request:
Pizza Hut was happy to indulge my whim and the guy on the phone offered his congratulations. A few minutes later, he called back and asked if it was okay if they didn’t slice it because they were afraid it would destroy the effect. I said yes. I can slice.
When it arrived, I gathered the troops for the unveiling. Sam was the first to realize the pizza was bearing a message. He started whooping and jumping up and down and around the kitchen, clapping wildly. The other kids must have thought he was slightly crazy because Sam is notorious for not liking pepperoni. Aidan was the next to realize what was going on, followed closely by Ryley and Tommy. There were high fives, hugs, and squeals of delight.
It was a joyous moment.
It was a little disconcerting when I sliced BOY in half.
He’ll understand someday.
