Lady Of The Manor: No, I Am NOT Trying For A Girl. Now Stop Asking!
A funny thing happens when I tell people I have three sons. First, they give me The Look â€“ a combo of disbelief, impressed awe and a smattering of pity. Then, inevitably, they ask, “Are you going for the girl?”
My answer is, always, a resounding â€œno.â€ I am the girl. Not only will there be no more girls born into our family, there will be no more children. Shopâ€™s closed. We are done.
But itâ€™s the conversation that keeps on keeping on. Folks canâ€™t understand how a woman in her 40s, whose youngest has ditched his diapers and whoâ€™s finally shed her baby weight (mostly), wouldnâ€™t want to jump back on that baby-making horse. They figure 40 is the new 30, so Iâ€™ve still got plenty of time.
No chance. Iâ€™ve been around lots of newborns lately. Theyâ€™re delicious and delightful and de-lovely. I like holding them, watching them smile and, best of all, handing them back to their people at the slightest peep. Patience is a virtue I gave up on long ago. Iâ€™m cranky and crotchety enough between 4-6 p.m. No bouncy baby girl could keep the witching hours at bay. Sheâ€™d only invite them back.
A friend of mine recently found herself knocked up with her fifth child. It was a total surprise (insomuch as these things can be surprises at all). A mother of four daughters ranging in ages 10-17, she was almost home-free. Diapers and cribs and even babysitting were relics of a bygone age. And then her son arrived.
Cue The Lion King soundtrack.
Everyone was delirious. This beloved and longed-for son with his five ‘moms’ and uber-proud father had completed their family circle. For some in our group, this welcome addition meant that we, too, could have a gender combo platter in our future. But not for me. Holding him the day he was born brought back lovely feelings and memories of my own boysâ€™ earliest days. Memories, not yearnings.
When the news broke that Victoria Beckham was with child â€“ girl child â€“ talk turned, once again, to will we or wonâ€™t we variety. If Posh, who made no secret of her desire for a Poshlet, could have one, maybe we ought to consider trying. I wish Baby Girl Beckham all the best. May she live and be well and enjoy her three big brothers as much as we enjoy our three sons. But, uh, no.
Do parents of deuces get this line of questioning? I canâ€™t remember. But for we triple threats, it seems the door is always at least slightly ajar. Itâ€™s like no one can believe that, after having two boys, we werenâ€™t trying for the girl.
To be clear: after two sons, we did try for a baby. And we failed. Most people, when hearing of our false start, commiserated or expressed sympathy that we had to go through a miscarriage. But there were still those whoâ€™d pull me aside to ask if the one that got away was a girl. (I had never thought to ask my doctor.)
My man and I are in our 40s. With three healthy and happy children. Thereâ€™s no more room in our house, our RESP account or our marriage for another baby, regardless of gender.Â Weâ€™re proud representatives of the Three Boysâ€™ Club â€“ one that no longer accepts new members.
(Photo: Michael Matisse)