Enter the man-child.

Twenty weeks ago, I decided it would be a good idea to impregnate The Sciencette, thus creating the Scientot.  As far as ideas go, fathers around the world have told me that I may have made a mistake, but hey, let me enjoy it for a little...

Anyway, the sex of the Scientot became a topic of conversation, not just because we're trying to pick out names, but because the Sciencette and I collectively have 99% female relatives.  The poor Engineer has been outnumbered and surrounded by women for decades, and holidays with my family are like an estrogen-fest.  Seriously, I get my period just being around so many women.

Now, excluding hermaphrodites (or hermies, as I like to call them), you basically have a 50-50 chance of either sex.  Sure, vaginal pH, occupation, and even diet can skew the ratio one way or another, but what explains the preponderance of ovaries in our families?  Does Mother Nature hate me?

Yeah, all of this stuff was running through my head the other day as I slapped a grizzly bear with a shark (that I caught with my bare hands) when I realized that maybe my chances are better than 50-50.  The man really decides the sex of the baby because mom can only donate an X-chromosome.  It occurred to me that maybe I only have Y-chromosomes, that I'm an uber-man (if you will).  And I don't mean XYY syndrome, I mean that I'm straight YY.  If that's the case, then: 1) I can only produce male offspring, and 2) being twice the man means that I can't grow a beard, sideburns, or chest hair.  I don't have all of the particulars on this worked out yet, but at least part of my theory was proven right today.

BOOM: GIANT MAN-CHILD!!!

I'm not going to lie, the first image the sonographer brought up was the crotch shot.  It was so obviously a boy and the female Jamaican technician was so impressed that she could only say, "It really is true what they say about white men," before she passed out with a smile on her face.  At that point, I had to hop into the driver's seat and used the ultrasound machine to finish the rest of the exam.  Princeton Medical, my bill's in the mail.

In any event, I don't feel comfortable flashing pictures of the Scientot's genitals all over the internet, and the images are a little grainy anyway.  Instead, here's an artist's rendition of what we saw:

I know, I don't think he'll be a great swimmer either; that thing is going to slow him down (I photoshopped the guy in for scale and as a reminder to be on the lookout for perverts after the Scientot is born).  The testicles aren't pictured because you just don't have a big enough computer monitor to accommodate them. 

There you go' you've been warned.  Lock up your daughters!

P.S. Now I can threaten to kick the Sciencette in the nuts and mean it.