When we were about four months pregnant with our now 15-year-old daughter we were driving to that all important let’s find out the sex of the baby sonogram so we could fully entrench ourselves in those arduous blue versus pink decisions. Our car ride, normally punctuated by my incessant questions, was eerily filled with silence as we were both very much wrapped up in our own thoughts. The truth is I really was hoping for a girl, but of course never felt comfortable enough admitting it out loud. I was filled with trepidation and that great fear of the unknown, what kind of mini person was I carrying in my womb and could I even be a good mother to a boy or a girl for that matter?
And then my husband, normally never one to break the silence, spoke and said, ” I know this might not be the right thing to say but I hope we are having a boy.” I looked at him feeling such relief that I wasn’t the only superficial one- hung up on yearning for a baby of a specific gender, and I too admitted what I’d been keeping in my heart, “well I really hope it’s a girl”. And while I should have felt relieved now that we put our true feelings out into the stratosphere I felt quite the opposite; anxious and panic ridden. Questions like, why did my husband want a son, and what if I couldn’t give him one, would he still love this baby, plagued me.
Of course I knew I would love anything that grew inside me as it was a product of my love for my husband. And I knew my reasons for wanting a girl were silly — I simply wanted a little baby doll I could dress up and cover in crinoline and ribbons who would watch Snow White with me and who would relish impromptu tea parties. I grew up with two sisters and by the time my brother was born I was 12 years old and no longer at an age where I was interested in playing or getting acquainted with the male persuasion. But why did my husband feel this way? I asked.
“Honey, why would you rather have a boy?”
To which my husband replied: “Of course I’ll love any baby that is ours regardless of whether its a boy or girl- but I know I’ll just feel more comfortable around a boy- I’ll know what to do and how to parent a boy. I’m a little worried about parenting a girl.”
Fast forward to when our daughter was three years old and after major infertility intervention, we became pregnant again. During a car ride that felt very Deja- vu-ish, we once again discussed what we hoped the baby’s gender might be. My husband, who after spending three years with his little girl had at that point become such a doting daddy and could literally not get in enough time with her said, “I hope it’s a girl.” Of course it was a boy and for me the love and the parenting has been just a rich and magical with my boy as it has been with my girl– and in my opinion gender has no bearing on love and my husband, well he completely agrees with me.
So I put the question out there to you Did your husband care about the gender of your kids?