It was August 16, 2010. I was sitting on the ultrasound "table" at my OBGYN's office while having my 20 week ultrasound done. That's the big exciting ultrasound. The one where you can find out what you are having. If you know me at all, you know that I really, REALLY wanted to know. I am a planner. Not knowing, and not being able to plan accordingly would have made me feel a thousand times more stressed.
The woman performing my ultrasound began pointing out various organs and the like. Then she asked rather nonchalantly, "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?"
"Yes," I replied, eagerly awaiting the news.
"It's a little girl!", she said excitedly.
My heart sank. I was in disbelief. What should have been exciting news, as it would have been for most women, left me feeling depressed and empty. I instantly began grieving the life that could have been, that I had imagined in my head for those 20 weeks. I grieved the little boy that I had hoped for and wasn't going to get. I grieved the little brother that my son wasn't going to get and the bond he would most certainly miss out on.
Fighting back the tears I flashed a forced smile at the ultrasound tech. Then I looked over at Anthony and gave him the same fake smile. He tried to give me a reassuring smile, but he looked uncertain, worried... I can never know for sure what he felt in that exact moment. But I do know that he wanted another little boy like I did and longed to see our son have a sibling of the same gender close in age, something that neither of us got to experience. In that moment however, I would guess that more than anything else, he was worried and sad for me.
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I still to this day don't know why the news was such a shock to me. When I was pregnant with my son, I just knew he was a boy. Chalk it up to woman's intuition. With my daughter, I knew before that little pink line ever showed up on the pregnancy test, to confirm that I was in fact pregnant, that she was a girl. But deep down inside for those 20 weeks I hoped and prayed that I was wrong.
Let me just take a moment to clarify something. Some of you may be reading this and be disgusted with how I felt about having a girl. Some might say, you are blessed to be having a baby or your baby is healthy and doing well, you should just be happy. I have never struggled with infertility. I have joked that perhaps Anthony could just look at me and it would happen, it has been that easy for us. I have never miscarried a baby or lost a child. Both of my babies were born healthy and normal. So for anyone who has been in any of these situations, I imagine it might be difficult for you to take a walk in my shoes, just as it would be difficult for me to walk in yours. But I make no excuses for how I felt.
I remember back in college commenting to a friend of mine who was a mother of three girls that I would be really disappointed if the baby came out and they told me it was a girl. Appalled by this she stated matter-of-factly, "No you won't. When the baby is born you will just be so happy that the baby is here and is healthy, you won't care what it is!" "Yea right!", I thought to myself. How right she would turn out to be. Being a mother myself now, I realize that it is incredibly difficult to understand the perspective of a parent until you are one.
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Immediately following our appointment, I called my mom and then my grandma to tell them the news. They were both extremely excited, as you might imagine. It would be the first grandchild that was a girl for my mom. I was happy that they were excited, but I just couldn't let go of the disappointment.
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The reasons why I didn't want a girl are numerous. First, I never really liked girls all that much. To be honest, I HATED girls in Junior High and High School. Girls that age are awful. I wanted nothing to do with all the catty, melodramatic, spiteful goings-ons between the girls. I loathed the thought of raising a teenage daughter. It is just downright terrifying!
Second, I often wondered, how am I supposed to raise a daughter up to be a confident, capable woman when I don't feel like one myself? It is a fact that I have never felt comfortable in my own skin. I have never felt like I was great at doing my makeup or hair. I don't really know how to put an outfit together or accessorize. In Junior High and High School, I was a bit of a tomboy. Some of that was because I really liked sports and wasn't into the girly stuff, but part of it was because I never felt like I could be cute and girly. It was easier to not try than to try and fail. Not that you have to be all glammed up to be a capable woman, but it certainly gives you a boost of confidence and helps you feel more womanly. My daughter is going to look up to me to teach her about all of this stuff and I'm just not sure I would do a very good job.
Third, I'm not sure how I feel about raising a daughter in a society that objectifies women, sexualizes girls at far too young of an age, and puts way too much pressure on women and girls alike to look a certain way. I feel these pressures myself far too often. I have never felt pretty enough or skinny enough. People have told me how pretty I am, but to be honest...I don't see it. I have lost 77lbs. and still feel fat! You know why? Because it is hard not to compare myself to the women I see in magazines and on TV. I know that it is an unrealistic standard to hold myself to and that many of the women in those magazines have been photo-shopped to the point where they are unrecognizable as themselves. Still, when you are constantly bombarded with those images, it's hard not to compare yourself.
Lastly, I have this fear that I will be unable to relate to my daughter and her interests. Let's be honest here. Hello Kitty? Fairy tales and princesses? Unicorns? Frou-frou (yes, it's in the dictionary...I didn't just make it up!) clothing? Cheerleading? Um, no thanks! There are just some things I cannot get into. A few mothers, much older and wiser than I, have told me that you will take in interest in the things your kids are interested in, even if it's not what you personally like. I'm not so sure. I mean, I want to be supportive, and I want to bond with my daughter, but I really just don't know if I can get into some of the super girly stuff out there.
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One thing that people would say to me when they found out I was expecting a girl was what fun she will be to dress compared to a boy. I didn't feel that way though. I liked boys clothing. Girls...not so much. I was convinced that everything out there was too girly, to old-ladyish, too um... scandalous, or to weird (really, why are you trying to dress your baby girl like a punk rocker in black and silver leopard print tights?). I decided that I needed some therapy. Some shopping therapy that is. I almost never buy any new clothing for the kids. Why should I when I can get such great used stuff? But I just wanted to go buy a few pieces that I was really excited about, if I could find any that is.
A couple of hours and $75 later, I had quite a few nice cute pieces of clothing. I had picked out a coming home from the hospital outfit that I was excited about and I was starting to accept the idea of having a girl. Overtime, the more I began to look at girls clothing, the more I got into head bands and shoes and cute printed tights. I began to have fun and began to look forward to her birth.
The rest of my pregnancy was uneventful. It flew by in the blink of an eye. Before I knew it, the day of my scheduled c-section had arrived. The night before my scheduled c-section, I sat in the rocking chair in my son's bedroom, with him on my lap, and read him a bedtime story (a task I had handed off to Anthony a while back as the available space on my lap rapidly began to shrink). As I read him a story, tears rolled down my face. I knew that my son's life, and our family's dynamics would soon change. How would this little girl, this tiny human I wasn't entirely sure I was excited about, fit into our family?
As I lay on the operating table, having my c-section, the anticipation grew. I was nervous to meet her, but excited and (like my friend had said) just hoping she was healthy and OK. Then I heard her first little cry and they held her up over the curtain for me to see her. She was definitely cute, and I was glad that she was healthy. But in that moment, I was pretty indifferent to her arrival.
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(My mom has often talked about the day I was born. She would tell me about how the nurses washed my hair and gave me a Cupie Doll hairdo. My mom always has a smile on her face as she tells me this.)
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I just lay there, waiting for the nurses to bring her back out to me. I heard the nurses enter the OR with her. Then they brought her around the curtain for me to see. There she was, with the same Cupie Doll hairdo that I had been given. She was beautiful. I don't know what it was, but in that moment, something changed.
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| Me seeing her up close for the first time. |
I sat there, holding her and nursing her for the first time, taking everything in. I wondered, how could I not want something so beautiful, so precious, so sweet? It didn't take long for the guilt to set in. I am a horrible person, a terrible mother, for feeling the way that I did. I should have been happy that I could even have a baby of my own and that she is healthy.
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As I sit back a year later and reflect on that day and the guilt that I felt, I no longer feel guilty about all the feelings I had. Sometimes you just feel how you feel. I had a lot of concerns and anxieties about raising a girl, all of which were (and still are) valid. The unknown can be very scary. I don't feel guilt, but a part of me feels like I took a step backwards in terms of my faith. Honestly, who am I to think that I know better than God what's good for me? Instead of focusing on all my disappointment and anxiety about raising a daughter and how "horrible" this experience was going to be, I should have trusted Him. I should have trusted that He would provide me with the knowledge, understanding, patience, and wisdom I would need to handle any situation I am presented with while raising her. Sure, I don't have all the answers, but He does.
Tuesday was my daughter's 1 year birthday. It is hard to believe an entire year has gone by already. It has been a joy to raise my daughter thus far. I love her so much, just as any parent loves a child. And my friend was right, it doesn't matter to me that she is a girl, I am just so thankful to have her.
I am not at all claiming that I feel 100% comfortable with the thought of raising a girl. I still think about her getting all princessy on me and cringe. I still think about her entering her teen years and panic. I have told Anthony several times that she is going to be a handful. Her personality is becoming more evident. She can be demanding, opinionated, and stubborn. She is energetic and rambunctious. I am certain she is going to be a handful. But I am grateful that God has counted me worthy enough to raise a second child. I am grateful that God has given me this gift, this unexpected gift, of raising a daughter. I know that no matter what lies ahead, no matter the challenges, two things are certain: I love my daughter and God will provide me with all that I need to raise her.
Sincerely,
The-M-O-M
