I know it may not be politically correct to say, but I genuinely hope this new baby is a girl.
My household is dominated by boys—my husband, a skilled boat builder, and our two sons who revel in their endless antics, from burping the alphabet to running around shirtless to flaunt their muscles. Family game night inevitably devolves into a wrestling match, and discussions about bodily functions are a common occurrence. The bathroom? It perpetually carries a faint odor of urine, as none of the males in my home seem to master the art of aiming. With plastic dinosaurs and ninjas lurking among the houseplants, our Netflix queue is heavily skewed toward action and spy flicks.
While we don’t enforce gender stereotypes, they seem to manifest naturally in our boy-heavy household. I adore my sons, and their exuberance for life is infectious. They’ve taught me to embrace bravery and let go of trivial grievances, like a broken lamp. Raising them has been an exhilarating journey, full of rewarding challenges.
As I approach the arrival of our third (and final) child, I’ve resisted the urge to check in with my doctor about the baby’s gender. Still, I must admit, I am secretly hoping for a daughter.
I yearn to experience that special mother-daughter connection I often hear about. The thought of buying cute dresses and possibly hosting tea parties (if she’s interested—my boys are not fans) fills me with excitement. I dream of engaging her in empowering discussions about women and feminism.
When I listen to my friends share stories about their daughters borrowing their makeup or their stylish leggings, I can’t help but feel a tinge of envy. I find myself imagining the afternoons spent braiding hair or embarking on fun science projects together, bonding over shared experiences.
A part of me longs to pass down the wisdom and life lessons I learned from my mother, grandmother, and vibrant aunts who have shaped who I am today. They instilled in me a sense of strength, resilience, and a commitment to feminism.
Of course, I am raising my sons to be feminists as well. We have open conversations about gender equality, consent, and respecting boundaries. Their father serves as a fantastic role model, and we are determined not to raise misogynists.
Yet, there remains a unique and indescribable bond between mothers and daughters that I feel is absent in my home. While my connection with my sons is deep and fulfilling, I can’t help but wish for that same kind of closeness with a daughter. I embrace my hopes for the future with an open heart.
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In summary, while I cherish my life with my sons, the desire for a daughter remains strong, fueled by hopes for a different kind of connection and shared experiences that I long to explore.