Yesterday all four of us met up at the OB/GYN office after our work/school/ballet-packed days to get a glimpse at the fifth member of our posse on the way. Even though the big reveal had already been, well, revealed this time, we thought it would be nice for the kids to see their baby sister in action, legs kicking and fingers waving, hazy and gray and viewed in cross sections. Both Noah and Rosie were excited, though Rosie would say concernedly every few minutes, “I think that baby’s gonna cry.” I reassured her that she most certainly would not, and might even wave at us, which I could tell she thought was a totally ridiculous notion.

We were a crowd in the waiting room, with Rosie dancing in the middle of the floor to Adele and other piped in radio tunes and Noah jumping up every time they opened the door, in hopes that it was our turn to go back. There was a stack of familiar magazines on the side table next to our chairs, and Noah asked if I was going to be on the front of one now that I had a belly like those ladies (Uh. No.) Rosie stared intently at the January issue cover model and declared, “I think that baby is coming out.” L took the time to read up on the (amazingly well-written) material provided within. I remarked at how different this experience was than the other two times, when I felt anxious and jittery, fairly overwhelmed with the enormity of not knowing who was inside me, and then all of a sudden knowing. It’s nice this time, I said. More relaxing. L nodded from behind his magazine.

After about 20 minutes, it was finally our turn. The ultrasonographer ushered us back into her dark room and the kids meandered alongside L and me, wide-eyed, not quite sure what to expect. She was a talkative lady who’d been “in the business” for years and years. Curly-edged glossy profile shots of 20-week old babes-in-womb lined the walls, and pictures of cats and grandchildren were crowded around her tiny desk in the corner. I climbed up on the crinkly paper of the examining table and hiked up my top while she adjusted the pillow behind my back. “They already told us at the 12-week ultrasound what we’re having,” I informed her. “Oh, well, keep it a secret!” she was quick to respond. “Let’s see if I get it right.” All of this was said with a wink in her voice. The kids looked at us with dancing eyes, giddy with the insider information they knew that she did not.

She jellied up the wand, touched it to my midsection and BOOM: there was our baby, clear as day on the screen. Beautiful, in motion, full of life and … a boy.

A BOY.

Even as the words were leaving her mouth, she could tell by the looks on our faces that the secret we were keeping was not boy, but girl, all four of us sure of it and just waiting for confirmation. The look on Noah’s face—if I could have frozen that moment and held it in my hand to tuck away in a pocket for later, I would have, because oh. He was open-mouthed and smiling, all at the same time, and then he looked at me and said, “I’m going to have a brother!” I looked at him, and then at L, and then back at the screen, and then back at L and all I could keep saying was “What? It’s a boy! She said it was a boy!” We were all talking at once, L, the ultrasonographer, Noah, me, and Rosie, who was insisting over and over again, “No, it’s a GIRL! It’s a GIRL!” (Breaking my heart a little more each time, oh Rosie.)

The rest of the ultrasound was a little bit of a blur—at one point L and the technician were chatting about the paralegal profession and I remembered thinking “WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT THIS BABY IS A BOY?” because I couldn’t get past the utter shock of it all. I was floored. Gobsmacked. Thrown for a loop. Discombobulated.

A boy? A boy. A BOY. We’re going to have a girl and two BOYS.

This pregnancy has been from the beginning, and continues to be, a crazy, unpredictable, wild thrill of a ride.

Welcome to the family, baby boy. Let’s do this thing.

L thinks I might be nesting.

But I told him, “Look, Buster. I just wrote an article on that very topic, and I happen to know that nesting doesn’t show up until right before the baby comes. Or, at least, I think that’s what I said. I’m not sure. But anyway! I am an expert on these things, so hush with your hogwash and let me get back to organizing these Trivial Pursuit pie pieces by color!”

I don’t think he bought it.

But it doesn’t matter anyway.

Because he doesn’t have time to be speculating about my nesty-ness. He’s got a shoe storage bench to build from scratch for the front porch.

It was totally his idea, swear.

I’ve never done a Year in Review post before, so I thought, Hey! I’m going to do this thing I’ve never done before! That head of mine—so full of twists and turns.

2011 was pretty good for us over here at casa de Yestertime. Fair warning, 2012—you have a lot to live up to. (Though something tells me you might just rise to the occasion.)

Highlights of a most excellent year:

January:

We get snowed in at my parents’ house in Virginia, and Noah turns six, the oldest he’s ever been. (For 12 more days, anyway.)

February:

I recognize my obsession with my camera and get to go see one of my most favorite bands for the umpteenth time. But come on, every time is like the first time.

March:

I perform in my first mainstage comedy show at a local theater, and we gain a new family member. (The already-grown kind!)

Also, I pay homage to the many faces of Rosie Mae with—what else—a video.

April:

We buy a second car (praise be), Rosie continues to enjoy a keen interest in fashion and I get all misty-eyed about almost-done-with Kindergarten Noah.

May:

Things get busy and L and Noah go out of town, leaving the mice girls to play.

June:

Noah graduates Kindergarten making me verklempt and I finally spruce up the Wall of Life.

(Also, we traveled to Kentucky to see our collective BFFs, a trip I never fully wrote about, but which was awesome in all ways.)

July:

I DIY a dresser for Rosie’s room like a crafty ninja and Noah heads off to Florida for a week, leaving L and I with a girl who gets to go on fun jaunts like pizza places and art museums with her best mom and dad.

August:

DIY-ing gets out of control with some lime green spray paint and a cork board, L becomes older, we celebrate 10 years of marriage (Which I didn’t write about, whoops! Uh, Happy Anniversary, L!) and the kids move into their own rooms. Which now that I think about it, was quite serendipitous. What about that.

September:

My turn to get older and as a present to myself, I write everyone a haiku. I also go on my very first business trip like a grownup (with a stowaway), and Rosie records her first installment of Yesterpiece Theatre, reciting The Very Cranky Bear. (Part II is coming someday.)

October:

Rosie carries on lighting up the world around her, and I finally let you in on a little secret I’d been keeping (from everyone except the bartenders and waitresses in Kentucky). Plus, we throw a 3-year old bash, Rosie-style.

November:

I start contributing to a pregnancy blog for my job, (meaning I’m now getting paid, in part, to write about my life, which is pretty much a dream come true), we find out early that it’s a girl, and the kids and I go on a road trip to Florida, stopping at every ice cream-serving truck stop along the way.

December:

I post only seven times total, taking all of the last week of December off (on purpose). But I do try to pause and take the time to enjoy this house that we’ve been working to make a home and also tuck away the memory of my kids at 3 and 6 years old. Because I don’t want to get so busy that I forget to remember.

So much to be thankful for this year. And so, so much more to come. Happy New Year, friends.

Hope this weekend (and beyond) is full of people you dig and feelings of grooviness.

Peace on earth.

Other places:

It was inevitably going to happen: I talked about my pregnancy nose on the internet. I need a support group.

Also, it’s time to name this kid. I’m ready.

Here:

Christmas preparationpalooza! I’ve been shopping and baking (what?) and schlepping packages to the post office and generally being in too much of a tizzy to actually enjoy myself, which I’ve decided will stop TODAY. Plus, Noah had two cavities filled (Extra large helping of Mom Guilt: Order up!) this morning, which he is we are recovering from on the couch with cartoons and smoothies. Later on the docket is the new Chipmunk movie and a trip to the bookstore. I would pretty much give him anything after watching his brave-faced entry into the bowels of the dentist office without me. Much Words With Friends was played in an attempt to distract myself from his ordeal. (He was a champ, btw. Still, teeth-brushing vigilance just went up a few dozen notches in this household.)

(P.S. I got an iPhone. Can you tell? INSTAGRAAAAAAAAAM!)

Speaking of Instagram, Rosie and I had a girl’s night on Monday, which mostly involved eating and a way overdone, should-have-stopped-pouring-a-long-time-ago-and-also-not-turned-on-the-jets-because-Whoa-Nelly bubble bath. So I snapped this shot:

… and then immediately felt an acute sense of Trusty Ol’ Regular Camera abandonment. I don’t want my phone to replace my other camera (though I do think it lends a great sense of artistic … ness … artistry? to ordinary pictures, which I really dig, and definitely think it has its place) for all the shots I take around here. We’ve had too long a love affair for that. So I’m going to be more purposeful about pulling out Old Faithful as much as I can and try to reserve the phone for on-the-go purposes, etc. And so! Bathtime with Rosie, who decided she was a snowman, and created friends from the suds so that she might boss them around with great authority:

Took a shovel and 30 minutes to clean up, but it was worth it, I think.