I'm So Wrong I'm Right
I think I'm gonna start my own business. It will be called "Rita's Accurately Inaccurate Gender Predictions."
Because I have managed - and this is an amazing feat, y'all - to guess impending babies' genders wrong an astonishing one hundred percent of the time.
Seriously, moms-to-be should be swarming my door and inundating my e-mail inbox. Because I am more reliably wrong than, like, the weather forecaster. My wrongness is the type of wrongness you can count on. None of this "right-10%-of-the-time" crap ... I am always, without fail, mistaken. My inaccuracy is, in a weird way, accurate of its own accord. Which means that if you wanna know what you're having? Just ask me. And then go with the complete opposite of what I tell you.
It even holds true for my own babies. When I was pregnant with Colin, I KNEW he was a girl. I would have bet my life savings on it. (If I had a life savings.) I was so sure he was a girl that I didn't even question myself - I thought it was that famous "mother's intuition." Then when we had our big gender-revealing ultrasound, the technician swiveled the wand over to this little hotdog-looking protrusion and was all, "There's Mr. Happy!" and I was like, "My daughter has a penis?!"
Turns out he was actually, you know, a boy. Not a daughter with a penis after all.
Same with Cameron. Same with Coby. Same with every-other-friggin-baby-whose-gender-I-try-but-fail-to-guess.