Editor’s Note: Katie Ryan-Anderson, wrote a guest blog for momaha.
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I want a baby girl.
I keep telling myself and anyone who asks that this baby is healthy and that’s all that matters. But it’s not all that matters. I want someone to dress up in tutus, take to gymnastics and teach her that femininity is synonymous with hard work, integrity and standing up for herself.
The mother of a beautiful 2-year-old boy and another wee man on the way, it’s true: they are healthy and I love them. I look forward to cheering for them at the same time at sporting events and all the money I’ll save, handing down clothes. They’ll grow up to be true gentlemen. That’s all that should matter.
But it doesn’t.
Erin of ParentsConnect.com feels the same way. The mother of one son, if her ultrasound tech says “girl” she’ll run to the mall for lacy dresses. Say “boy” she’ll surely cry.
“I’m embarrassed to admit that to myself, much less say it out loud. It makes me feel like an awful mother, one who’s going to scar her child for life before it takes its first breath.”
Boys are easier, people tell me, but I’m up for the challenge. I want the dress up, the make up, the throw up my hands because my daughter is SUCH A TEENAGER. I want to stock her closet with overpriced shoes and purses and then tell her her looks don’t matter. I want her to blush when she tells me her crush and to fight with her about housework. I want to teach her all the things my founding females taught me.
Whether I’ll ever have that chance is unknown. Ask me in three years if I want a third child and then flip a coin. Heads for a Y chromosome. Tails: the desired X.
And since in its former life, the word “mom” was spelled “G-U-I-L-T,” I think of all the mothers or mothers-to-be who don’t have any children and want them, don’t have enough children and want more, have children with chronic health conditions, have broken families, broken dreams, broken spirits. I think of them and realize I’m ungrateful. I’m sure many women yearn for the fortunes I have. And I should be ashamed of myself.
Dear God, let’s make a deal. I’ll raise strapping young boys, so long as my brother raises strapping young girls. I need some nieces to spoil.
Katie Ryan-Anderson lives and works in North Dakota with her husband, son and second baby due in December. She grew up in Omaha where she attended high school and college.
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