There are some people who can patiently wait until their baby is born to find out whether it's a boy or a girl. They enjoy the surprise, even. I've heard that it gives them motivation to get through labor, as though you need a motivator besides the small person who is, regardless, tunneling out of your womb. This, to me, is like finding a reason to keep peeing once you start.
I am not one of those people. I want to be, sort of, and I even entertained the idea of forcing myself to be one of those people for the four or five months of pregnancy during which knowing the baby's sex is even possible. It seemed fun to announce to everyone that a little boy or a little girl had arrived -- a small bonus to the anticipated name and stats, as neither are we people who name a child prior to meeting him or her. There's also the matter of pre-defining someone's gender, which is a little bit fucked up, and the very real potential for having a baby of the opposite sex than is predicted through ultrasound, or an intersexed baby (of which the prevalence is somewhere between 1.7% and .018% depending on the conditions included).
But. I am incapable of being that patient, enlightened person. Instead, I was itching to find out and get started sewing a few things (for a boy; for a girl, let's be frank: an entire wardrobe). What was I going to do? Make all this stuff and not show you? Please.
So, we found out a couple of weeks ago. I sent text messages to the most fervently enquiring minds while (I kid you not) using the restroom at the ultrasound place, midway through the procedure. That's how hilarious a proposition it was to keep the sex a secret. I couldn't even get out the door.
The fabrics are, top to bottom, Alexander Henry Farmdale Orchard and a kind of robin's egg blue cotton lawn; two prints from Lizzy House Castle Peeps (reeling in my psychosis about making matching outfits, I saved the scraps to put at the hem of some otherwise solid-colored pants for George); and two patterns from Anna Maria Horner's Little Folks voile, which I could swathe myself in 24/7. These tutorials were so easy to follow that I whipped the three dresses up in just one night, plus an hour for finishing. I asked George if he liked them, and he said, "Piddy!" Which either means they're pretty or he pities the next in line to wear the clothes I've made. Based on his jacket review, I'm guessing it's the latter.