It’s a question that many mothers of boys are all too familiar with and often find unsettling: “Do you wish you had a daughter?” It’s not just a casual inquiry; it’s a question that lingers and stings, especially when you have four boys like I do. People often comment, “Wow, all boys! Are you hoping for a girl?” or “Consider yourself lucky; girls can be so dramatic.” What they don’t realize is that beneath my surface of smiles lies a profound sorrow. I once had a daughter, but she was lost to a second-trimester miscarriage at 18 weeks.
In the weeks leading up to my ultrasound appointment, I felt an unsettling sense of foreboding. It wasn’t anything specific, but a nagging feeling that pushed me to visit my OB/GYN for a quick heartbeat check. Unfortunately, I arrived during lunch hour and found only the receptionist. Though she offered to schedule me later, I declined, juggling the chaos of a 1-year-old and twin 4-year-olds.
When the day of the ultrasound finally came, I began spotting—something that had never happened in my previous pregnancies. Deep down, I feared something was wrong, that ominous intuition that had prompted my earlier visit. I shared my concerns with my husband, and we approached the appointment with a mix of hope and trepidation.
The usual checks were done, and when they placed the fetal Doppler on my belly, the midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat. “Let’s just take a bit more time,” she reassured us, but I could sense the truth. After a tense search, we were led into the darkened ultrasound room. There, I saw her on the screen—a perfectly formed baby girl, still and silent. “I’m so sorry,” the technician said, turning off the machine and rushing out to get help. In that moment, I was engulfed by a wave of despair, sobbing uncontrollably while my husband stood in stunned silence.
A midwife eventually returned to comfort me, explaining the next steps and scheduling a surgical procedure for the following morning. We left the office, dazed and grief-stricken, passing by expectant mothers in the waiting room. When we arrived at my parents’ house, where my boys were being cared for, my dad asked, “So, what’s the verdict? Boy or girl?” With tears streaming down my face, I replied, “It’s over. The baby is gone.” He dropped the garden hose, his face reflecting our shared devastation.
Two months later, I received the call I had been waiting for—the results of genetic testing. While I knew the doctor would also reveal the gender, I felt a mix of dread and hope. “The baby was a girl,” she said gently. I thanked her and broke down again, mourning the daughter we longed for but would never hold. As someone of faith, I believe she is with God and that we will reunite one day. Yet, the ache of her absence remains.
Eventually, we welcomed another son into our family. With time, I found a sense of peace about not having a daughter. A lovely neighbor has stepped into a surrogate daughter role, bringing joy into our home as she interacts with my boys, shares stories, and helps out. Some of that hollow space has been filled.
And who knows? I might have a granddaughter someday. So, if you see a mom surrounded by a pack of boys, remember this: she might be carrying her own unspoken grief, perhaps from a daughter nobody knows about. For more insights on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on in vitro fertilisation.
If you’re interested in learning more about at-home insemination options, visit this guide. Also, for additional stories and experiences, you can read more in our blog on miscarriage.
In summary, the journey through loss can be excruciating, yet it can also lead to unexpected connections and healing. Whether through the embrace of surrogate relationships or the hope of future generations, the love for the children we long for never truly fades.