I have a secret. It’s buried deep within me. I don’t want it out. But I think you’ll understand.
When I decided to get pregnant, I spent months agonizing over the decision. I weighed the pros and cons. I knew I wanted another child. But was it practical? Was it a need? Was it a smart decision? We’re in a rental home, and The Husband is rebuilding his business in a time of economic down turn. I had my hands full with the boys. I had other issues that I should be deal with. But I still wanted that child. It didn’t seem logical. In fact, it was quite illogical. Stupid as I made my list of cons. I hate doing something stupid. But there it was a calling to have another child. A strong desire that I had only felt once when working towards college and picking the unpractical degree of Creative Writing.
So then I asked the really hard question. Did I want another child or just a daughter? If it was a daughter, then I might as well start saving for adoption. I began research over adoption, foreign and domestic. I continued to analyze my want. In the end, I realized I wanted another child. I be perfectly happy with another son.
So after months of praying, thinking, meditating, I told The Husband, who had no idea I was going through such a mental crisis, that I truly wanted another child. He was already on board. But since I couldn’t deny a little girl would be nice, I decided to naturally switch the odds in my favor.
Tomorrow I’ll find out if I did.
And I’m nervous.
What if I wasn’t really honest with myself after all that soul searching? What if I truly wanted a daughter so bad my heart bled with want? What if I’m disappointed that it’s a boy?
I wasn’t disappointed with the first two pregnancies. I thought I could always have another. With Tornado E, we found out the moment he entered the world and the doctor checked. My mom and The Husband were so sure he would be a girl, but he was a boy. I was so excited that I kept saying “it’s a boy” over and over again. With Tornado S we decided to find out just so we could have everything ready. The Husband, Tornado E, and I stared at the screen as the technician rolled the instrument over my belly. She announced, “It’s a boy.” The Husband asked if she was sure. She was very sure. I said, “We’re still buying a play kitchen.” The Husband was worried I would be disappointed, kept watching for signs that I didn’t love the baby enough.
Any mother would find that preposterous. How could I not love my baby to the fullest extent of my heart and beyond? Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter. It’s my baby. So I know that if the little bean is a boy, I will love him to the point of breaking my heart. And thanks to Raising Boys Without Men, I feel more comfortable with the thought of raising men who won’t run off and forget their mom.
But what if tomorrow there is just a moment of disappointment? Just a slight part of a second where I realize I won’t have a daughter. I think I will cry for that moment of doubt. But to make it worse, what if The Husband sees that flicker of disappointment across my face? Because he won’t understand. He’ll always wonder if I don’t love my third son as much as the other two because he was another boy.
This is why I hate opening up presents in front of people. Sure, there are things I truly want, sometimes expect to get. But there’s that brief moment of empty disappointment over realizing you didn’t get what you want. Sure, you’re extremely ecstatic that you got this awesome present from people who thought about you and love you, but it wasn’t really what you wanted. Your voice sounds fake to your own ears as you thank them. The disappointment fades off as you brag about the gift to other people, but you always wonder if the givers ever knew you weren’t really excited those first few minutes.
Part of me doesn’t want to know tomorrow. There’s a chance hope will die. But in its place will be love and excitement. I wish I could know without anyone there, without worrying about what I feel or say or think or look like. I just want to absorb the fact. If I thought The Husband would understand, I would ask if they could just put it in an envelope for us to look at later, and then I could open it without anyone there. But The Husband is super excited. He hated waiting to find out Tornado E was. I don’t think I could sell him on the envelope idea.
Doubt about God, Heaven and Hell, the brilliance of Shakespeare, I can handle. I don’t know if I can handle doubting myself.