When you’re married, everyone asks when you’re going to start having kids. Makes sense. I pester my friends with the same questions. When are you going to have a kid? When are you going to have a second one? Do you want a girl because your first is a boy? Now that you have two girls, do you want to try for a boy?
I fielded the pregnancy questions at the reception after my great uncle’s funeral, adamantly making clear that I did not want a girl. My mom was shocked, “I never knew you didn’t want a girl!”
“I hate girls. Girls are moody and sensitive, then you’ve got to lock them in their rooms when they’re teenagers.”
My mom shook her head, “It’s all about how you raise them.” To which I rattled off names of female acquaintances who had gotten pregnant or had abortions. My mom knew these girls and their mothers, too. The shocked look on my mom’s face was exactly what I expected. My mom never realized how good she had it. She was the dictator in our household and we strictly obeyed.
But recently, I’ve had a change of heart. I told Dean last weekend that I’d be ok having a girl. “You know, I actually don’t care whether we have a girl or a boy. As long as it’s healthy.”
He couldn’t believe it. I continued, “I think it’s easier to dress a girl. Just toss a dress over her head. With boys you have to put their pants on, then their shirt. Seems so complicated. Also, by the time she’s a teenager, she’ll be in boarding school and no longer living with us.”