As a little girl, I often imagined my future filled with daughters. Sons were never part of my dream. I wasn’t against having boys; I just assumed that my life would revolve around little girls. This belief carried over into adulthood and shaped my expectations during my first pregnancy.
My husband and I were so convinced we were having a girl that we wrapped a Christmas gift labeled “To Lily, Love Mommy and Daddy” before our big gender reveal ultrasound. But imagine my shock when that supposed Lily turned out to be a Lucas. My initial thought was, “My daughter has a penis?”
Fast forward a few years, and Lucas was joined by Leo, Liam, and Logan. Four boys. Not a single daughter.
You might think my childhood dreams of tea parties and dress-up have been shattered, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Many people believe that because I have no daughters, I’m somehow incomplete or missing something important, as if my heart is longing for a little girl to fill a void.
Let me be clear: THIS IS NOT TRUE.
I don’t need your pity. The worst comments came when I was pregnant with my fourth son. Friends, family, and even strangers would ask about the baby’s gender, and their faces would fall when I said, “It’s another boy.” Some looked as if I had just shared devastating news and would pat my shoulder while saying, “Maybe next time you’ll have a girl. Are you going to try again?”
No, we’re not trying again. That implies we’ve somehow missed the mark with our four incredible boys. I refuse to let any of my sons think they weren’t enough, that we were merely trying for something different.
It’s disheartening when folks express their pity in front of my boys. It’s as if they believe they’re a consolation prize, that I somehow need a girl to be fulfilled. How does that make my sons feel? They can sense the disappointment, and it’s palpable.
I can’t tell you how often I encounter that same incredulous reaction when I’m out with my boys: “All boys?!” The tone varies, some with amazement and others tinged with sorrow, as if they’re offering their condolences.
Perhaps people think that having sons means I can’t relate to them or that I won’t bond with them in the same way I would with daughters. But let me assure you, I’ve passed down traits to my boys just like I would have to daughters. I see myself in them every day—whether it’s their humor, their interests, or the way they look (especially Leo, who’s practically my mini-me).
Do I ever complain about my boys? Sure! Like when they forget to aim properly, leaving the toilet a mess (and I bet this wouldn’t happen if they were daughters). But when I vent about that, it’s simply part of being a mom—not a mom who is disappointed by having only sons.
So please, don’t feel sorry for me or any parent with boys (or girls). We don’t walk around with an emotional void. Like any parent, I am proud of my kids. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, even if it means we never get to share nail painting or chat about “girl stuff.” I don’t miss what I don’t have—not even a little.
Yes, my house is filled with wrestling, burping contests, and the occasional pants-ripping incident, and the toilet requires a hazmat suit for cleaning. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I love my life with my boys, and I can assure you, we are not missing anything—except maybe people who truly understand.
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