For the past month, I have been growing more concerned about the idea of having a girl. It’s very sexist, I know. Don’t ask why I want a boy so badly. I can’t explain it. Perhaps because I was so sure I would have a boy. Since the man’s part of the equation determines the baby’s gender, I was sure I was having a boy. My father had all boys. His brothers’, too. My father’s father did, too. Even my maternal uncle had three boys. All the male blood relatives had boys. I thought I was destined to have all boys, and I couldn’t wait.
But lately, Susan’s been having all the “symptoms” associated with a female pregnancy, so she says. I don’t usually buy into all that wive’s tale crap, but it’s beginning to add up to a girl, and that’s enough to make me wonder. Of course I will love a girl as much as a boy and all that. That goes without saying, even though I joke with Susan that we could find a family in the maternity ward that had a boy but wanted a girl and trade. It really is a joke, too. I wouldn’t trade my baby for any reason.
I just don’t know what to do with girls. I know what boys do. We play in the mud, handle slimy things and build stuff. What do girls do? Don’t they dress up their stuffed animals and have tea parties? I guess that can be fun, but where’s the exploration and discovery?
So, in case we are having a girl, I feel like I need time to get used to it, and I’ve decided to find out the gender when we go for our ultrasound next week. Stay tuned!