Learning that our baby is most probably a girl was disturbing news for me. After the happiness of seeing my baby alive and well and normal faded, I had to reflect on the matter a bit.
It is no secret, I wanted a boy. Not because of any childhood fantasy or any ideas of destiny on my part. I just thought it would be more practical for me to raise a guy than a girl.
I alternately grew up alone (with a benign yaya) or with my dad. I have three brothers. I went to an all-boys school which just started accepting girls. I was raised a boy. My friends from school were raised like boys. I grew up knowing how to deal with boys better than girls. Naturally, it was easier for me to imagine myself raising a boy over a girl.
I had grand thoughts of going jogging with my son, maybe he will even love the Yankees as much as I do (the dad likes the Red Sox ick). The kid will go around owning only 3 pairs of shorts and 3 pairs of shirts and he would not care. He will get scratches and wounds and after briefly crying about it, he will be off and playing again. He will be dirty and stinky most of the time and people will not think I am a bad mom for it.
When he does grow up, I wish he would be a rocker. Someone we can watch and embarrass during his gigs on a Saturday night. He will be someone I can kick back and have a drink with on a Thursday night while discussing his college options. We can travel and backpack around Asia and Europe and he will be okay. He can go home late and he can even bring a girl to his room and I wouldn’t worry.
When he is 17 or 18, I will subtly kick him out of our house. Let him find his way on his own, start deciding his path. While I and his Dad become more like his buddies, instead of his providers. He can go home bloodied from a fight and I will ask – where did the other guy end up?
Hearing it was a girl burst that happy bubble.
I was bombarded with thoughts of pink rooms and floral dresses, baking and dolls, crybabies and drama queens. I always joked that I can take any choice my kid wanted to make – be gay, be lesbian, be an artist, be a rockstar, be an activist, and so on. I just cannot take it if she becomes a housewife. Now, my joke can become a prophesy.
I write this post now because I am in the process of changing plans. Adjusting my thinking to what my reality is. This is an inherently sexist thinking. At its core, it shows how I think of women in general. If I were to have a shot at postively influencing my daughter, I should make some changes. I love her, and because of that I can change.
