The Adventures of Little Steve, Vol. 2

The name Little Steve just kind of fell out of my mouth. Brandi and I were on the phone, and my mind was grasping for a word I could ascribe to this weighty new addition, some sort of endearing title that would humanize the sudden impact this tiny object had made upon our lives. I hadn't given what we would call it more than a passing thought; all I knew was that I didn’t want to call it “it”. So I called it Little Steve.

If you have ever seen the film The Tao of Steve then you know where I’m coming from. More than being the basis for my belief, the movie only serves to reaffirm what I have always known to be true. Steve’s are cool. When I was a child, and no one was yet familiar with the name Cobey, I longed to be a Steve.

From the beginning, we simply assumed Little Steve was a boy. Brandi was certain of it. I shared a similar opinion myself; several nights before her pregnancy was confirmed, I had dreamt of a male infant. It wasn’t until after we had already spent a couple months calling him Lil’ Steve that we even considered the very real possibility that Little Steve might well be a Little Stephanie.

For generations, Williamson progeny have tended towards the male, at least on our branch. My father has two brothers; I have five. My uncle has two sons. It wasn’t until my brother’s daughter Arianna arrived that a female member was actually born into the family. Since then, however, Williamsons had produced nothing but girls. Seemed the tide had finally turned, ad infinitum.

All of the old wives' tales lent credence to the possability that we would continue this new trend. Little Steve’s fetal heart rate was high, supposedly typical of females. The Chinese gender prediction calendar pointed unequivocally toward our having a Little Stephanie. We solicited the opinion of a handful of other quizzes and legends, all of which suggested a feminine outcome. Our attention turned from the list of boy names to the list of girl ones.

The McCoy’s came to visit the weekend before our Week 22 pre-natal exam, and we encouraged John and Cindy to attend. Her mom was thrilled at the prospect, but Brandi’s dad politely declined the invite with an assurance that he already knew which name would follow the descriptor “Little”. As we headed out the door en route to the doctor’s office, John told us to bring him the envelope.

As soon as he placed the ultrasound transducer on Brandi’s midsection, Doc Laraway was inquiring whether or not we desired to know the sex. He walked us around the image, pointing out legs and buttocks, drawing out the suspense, but the conclusive evidence was apparent even to a lay person. That was boy stuff there. The Chinese, old wives, and Brandi’s dad had been mistaken. Against the odds, Little Steve truly is a Steve.