"Its a girl!" The midwife said glowing. I smiled but have been wishing the scanner was wrong. I wanted a boy. Well, I admit I was selfsih but it was my preferred choice. I wanted my first baby to be a boy, a replica of his father. So that anytime Derrick was on one of those long work journeys, he will still be at home in his baby. And secretly, I didn't want a girl to come first, and share my husband's love. Its mine! When she grows, she'll find hers. Woman's vanity, jealousy! So all through my 36 weeks of pregnancy, I kept talking to my boy in the womb. Derrick said she will be named Pauline and I quickly masculinized it, its a Paul. Every morning before going to work, he pulls up my dress, kneels down and kisses my heavily protruded tummy, "Good morning Pauline!" I never miss the opportunity to correct them both, "It is a Paul, I'm carrying a boy!" Derrick walks through the door laughing. As if he has forgotten. But how d...