Today’s actions on the part of my wife may have radically shifted my thoughts on my unborn child.

Girl, I’ve thought, right from the start. But I always said that if my vegetarian wife ever ate meat while she was pregnant, then it would definitely mean that she was having a boy. Obviously, this theory has no basis in reality and is merely the idle wanderings of a brain going through a major reboot. But it’s all I’ve got right now, so I’m going with it.

The fact of the matter is, my wife had a few bites of the organic, lightly breaded and delicately fried chicken fingers I made for dinner tonight. She was terrified and uncertain, but she was utterly compelled. They were delicious as usual, but she has never been truly tempted before. This time she had to have some. Either that, or my unborn son had to have some, and for him it get it, he’s gotta go through Mom.

This is the week where the gender of the fetus becomes externally detectable. The timing of that makes it even more obvious to me. I bet Lu has a bit of chicken every now and then for the rest of the pregnancy and then after she delivers never again. Unless, of course, we have another boy.

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