A real surprise party in Portola Valley A real surprise party in Portola Valley (November 17, 2004)

By Marie Wagner Krenz

Special to the Almanac

I had never heard of a "Gender Disclosure Party," nor had anyone else, including the hosts. My family and I accepted the invitation on the spot but had to wait weeks for the date to roll around.

At a family holiday gathering, my son Charles Krenz and his wife Karen Tate of Portola Valley had announced the happiest of news. They were expecting a child. They had told me early on but swore me to secrecy. After several disappointments, we were keeping our fingers crossed.

The weeks passed slowly at first, and every doctor's appointment seemed a crisis. I received each report with increasing hope, and after a while grew cautiously optimistic that this time was different.

Medical tests confirmed that the pregnancy was progressing well. Although the parents-to-be could have learned the gender of their child much sooner, they decided to wait until a few weeks before the baby's birth, in time to decorate the nursery in proper colors. The genesis of a party occurred at that moment.

The expectant parents wanted to share the surprise with their two families and a few friends. They chose not to know until we did.

On the party night, we arrived to find the entry of their home filled with bright fuchsia and royal blue helium balloons clinging to the ceiling. No baby pink or baby blue here. A bold event called for bold colors.

The family bassinet was on display. On the bottom of the stand, one could read the names of all the nieces, nephews, and children of friends who had slept there. My son's name was the first. His child's would be the 20th.

Before dessert (two cakes, one iced to say, "IT'S A BOY," the other, "IT'S A GIRL"), I followed the group into the living room. My heart was thumping, and I could only imagine how my son and daughter-in-law felt. The lights went up, and there was silence. I almost expected a drum roll. But we still had to wait.

Our hosts passed around printouts of Old Wives Tales, and we were encouraged to question whether any of those conditions applied. According to the list, it would be a girl if the young mother craved orange juice and refused to eat the heel of a loaf of bread. It would be a boy if her feet were cold and she wanted salty or sour foods.

Finally we were told to hold a pink or a blue balloon to indicate our best guess as to the sex of the baby. I chose blue, certain it would be a boy. Everyone had a party noisemaker for the grand denouement. At last the moment came.

Earlier that week the doctor had given the anxious couple the envelope that they now unsealed. The father-to-be could hardly speak as he held the paper high over his head.

"It's a girl," he said. The couple held each other close.

I sat there with tears running down my cheeks. After living my entire life in a predominantly male family, I couldn't believe my ears. My mother had three brothers, I had three brothers, my brothers had only two girls amid a bevy of boys, and I had two sons.

I was to be a first-time grandmother, and the baby was a girl.

Marie Wagner Krenz is a freelance writer from Orinda who spends weekends in Woodside at the old family home. She has written a number of columns for the Almanac.

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