Do you guys know how hard it is to find a baby boy doll in a brick-and-mortar store? Target had zero (ZERO!) and the Toys R Us next door only had about four on the entire double-sided aisle, a mere two of which could be unanimously classified as non-hideous. And no, it did not feel at all creepy to be systematically checking the genitalia of the merchandise, just to be sure; why do you ask?
So, question: Is the idea that little girls mostly want little girl babies a significant footnote to my recent meltdown over the surprise that *I* also mostly wanted a little girl baby too, even though I didn't actually know it until I felt myself trying to turn invisible so I could sneak out of the ultrasound room and run away to the desert the moment I recognized what I was looking at between Mompth's legs? And they say finding out the sex of the baby at 20 weeks isn't a surprise. Surprise! Turns out I would have been okay with a boy and a girl or a girl and a girl, but I never, not ever, wanted to be the mother of two boys. (Does anyone? No, seriously, tell me.) So of course. OF COURSE.
As Simon and I were talking about it last night, I realized how much our ("our" = generally and collectively) children's relationships are a chance to either recreate or redeem our relationships with our own siblings. Because mothers are girls (generally and collectively), I suspect it's harder for us to personally connect to the brother-brother relationship, especially if we didn't have any examples in our own families. (In my giant extended family, we have a grand total of two boy-boy-only families, one of which only dates back to Thanksgiving (and was by adoption) and the other of which is due to commence two weeks before our second boy is born. And if I know anything about Mormons, and I think I do, neither of these families will stop at two kids the way we have to, for a variety of reasons.)
(Please help me remember this: TWO KIDS. NO MORE.)
So we are to be the flag-bearers in this tiny army of four, I guess. And I get to wear the dress.
Simon is pretty much happy with whatever he gets (in this as in all things), so he hasn't really said much beyond emitting the usual whimpering sounds while passing through the barbed thicket that is the girls' clothing section in a department store. Last night I confessed that I needed him to be excited about this baby being a boy because, aside from Wombat, who doesn't understand the full implications of the situation, I don't think anyone else really is. I absolutely appreciate the congratulations and absolutely understand the practical reactions ("A boy! How...economical!"), but in a society that values the one-of-each formula, I also (irrationally! I know!) feel like we've let people down. (My poor mother will never, ever have a granddaughter. That's kind of tragic.) I can't imagine anyone will say that out loud, but it's there. So. Bleh. I have issues, okay? (The worst part of all is the guilt. Oh, the guilt!)
That said, Wombat is thrilled, and Simon is now freely regaling me with tales about all the times he's been jealous of brother relationships. He's also not-so-secretly tickled that these boys will be able to start a much cooler rock-and-roll band than boy-girl siblings, but that of course will depend on if they both turn out to be musical in a rock-and-rolly sort of way, when one or both could easily go Rogers and Hammerstein or harpsichord and a powdered wig or maybe have no rhythm at all. You just never know.
And of course there's consolation in that. You never know, not with any child of any flavor. I'm glad that my girl-based issues have mostly to do with stupid, shallow things like clothes and names--both of which can become irrelevant once a daughter starts to dress herself at age 3 and request that everyone call her Medusa at age 12--and so my goal now is to find some way to enjoy and relish the rest of this pregnancy (now that I have ZERO clothes to buy or make and only the crushing frustration of trying to discover another perfect boy name) and not spend the next five months wishing the experience to a speedy conclusion so I can at last discover the individual personhood of this boy creature who, as much as I hate to admit it, so far feels like just a been there, done that repeat. (I know he is already his own person, and I hope I can feel that way about it sooner rather than later because this sucks.)
In the meantime, I'm reminding myself that I wanted a second baby only partly for myself but mostly for Wombat. Although I think he would be an excellent brother to a sister, he's clearly excited to have a boy join the family, and I'm honestly jazzed to see what kind of pals they become--confidants, competitors, conspirators, or some combination of the three plus a dozen other iterations of brotherhood I haven't even considered because I have a giant gaping void in experience when it comes to this stuff. In time I imagine I'll be an authority. In time...We have lots of it.Previous Next