Tomorrow is it - the ultrasound. It seems that this decision, much like which candidate I was going to vote for on Super Tuesday, is coming down to the wire. I really don't want to find out the sex of the baby anymore, and S. is sort of wavering. I think she's insisting we write it down on a slip of paper, place it in a sealed envelope and then pass it off to her mother, who will hoard the information and not tell us even if we begged and screamed. Or--we find out. I am not dying to know, unlike S. I admit that I was temporarily blinded this weekend when we went away and went to the best stores with the cutest baby clothes ever. But we managed to find the cute gender-neutral stuff (the definition of "gender neutral" clothing is another thing S. and I seem to disagree on, we've come to discover). At any rate, I'm just thrilled to see the baby again up on the big screen, see its little heart beating, and make sure everything is a-o.k.