The short answer to this question is an overload of hormones. The long answer, of course, requires a bit more explanation. First, let me start with a confession.
I want a boy.
I knew this from shortly after the moment I found out I was pregnant…nearly eight years ago. You see, I hate pink. I am the girl who used to avoid the pink aisle at Wal-Mart. No, I wouldn’t just avoid it. I would curse it as I pointedly walked past. For me, the pink aisle represented all that was wrong with the way girls are categorized by both society and the media. I did not want to raise a child in a world that encourages her to get all dolled up and play house. I certainly didn’t see the point of either (much to the chagrin of my poor mother).
I was slightly disappointed to find out that Omelette would be a girl, but I grew into the idea. We didn’t have to do pink. In fact, for my baby shower, I expressly requested that no pink be involved. I wanted a more neutral combination of yellow and green. I still got pink. And a girly girl to boot.
A few years into the girl thing, I found out I was pregnant again. This time, I was hoping for a boy not because of my aversion to pink but because I thought a boy would bring a nice sense of balance to the family. Again, I felt that sense of disappointment to find out that a boy was not to be. (Ironically, just a few weeks after this revelation, my water broke unexpectedly, and I found myself glad to be having a girl because they generally do better than boys in the NICU.)
Now fast forward a couple of years. Because of Early Bird’s prematurity and my age, the idea of a third child was far from my mind. Roostler was more keen on this idea, and when I finally came around, he was more than ready. A couple of months later, I was pregnant again.
From the beginning of the pregnancy, I was sure it would be another girl. Still, I was hoping that maybe I would finally get that elusive Y chromosome. I have given up most of my previously held ideas about all things girl. Not for myself but for my daughters — I still don’t get dolled up, and I’m forever losing at the game of playing house, but if they want to wear tiaras and have tea parties, I’ll play along. Still, with two daddy’s girls in residence, I was hoping that maybe mama would finally have her boy.
When Hatchling clearly showed us that she will be girl #3, the old disappointment crept in again. I know I will get used to the idea of having three girls (just as I got used to having one and then two), but I have several friends who are having boys, and the latest announcement actually brought me to tears. Yes, I was crying over a picture of a blue balloon.
Why couldn’t it have been my blue balloon?
My tears only got worse when I realized that I was crying for such a selfish reason, one which would likely qualify me as a horrible mother. Was I really crying over the fact that my third child, who is developing normally and shows no signs of either defect or premature arrival, happens to be female? I should be grateful that I’m even able to have another child, especially one that is the picture of health.
So what is wrong with me?
I’m going to go with the short answer. It’s got to be the hormones.
To my friends who are soon going to be blessed with boys, I hold no ill feelings toward you. On the contrary, I am sincerely happy for you. I’m just having a hormonal moment. I’m sure you understand what that’s like.