The Gender Revelation

Sssh Baby. Don’t worry. Mummy is here. I have my hand on my belly, feel you turn in darkness. You are glory in water. A Marina Trench. A fathomless mystery. They will be here soon. His mum and dad, brothers. My parents, sister and uncle. A couple of friends. The neighbours are coming. Everyone stuck together with cake and tea. Lips bent into smiles. We’ll all stand on the cold pavement by Daddy’s new car. He will get in. Turn the engine on. Hear it roar. Why are engines like lions? Daddy likes engines. He says: Cars are sexy. One hundred miles per hour. Baby, I prefer submarines. Watching day-time documentaries about deep sea. Going to places no one goes. Marine snow. Abundant life.

In the car, Daddy will put his foot on the accelerator. The man in the shop explained: The coloured powder will shoot out from the exhaust pipe. Your baby’s gender will be revealed to the crowd. A blue dust cloud for a boy. A pink dust cloud for a girl. Everyone will be happy. Clap. Hug. Shake hands.

In the shop, I whispered to your Daddy: But why do we need to know gender? He said to me: It is like the sex. But Baby, I know sex is submarines. And you are a fish, from the great depths. Silvery. Swimming free.