The News

If I had known what the ultra sound room looked like, I would have insisted on a time in which my mom and the boys could have come.  It was roomy with chairs for six with a big flat screen hanging on the wall, hooked to the ultra sound machine.  It was impressive.  Baby delivering was lucrative.

As we started it, the doc asked, “So what do we want?”

The Husband: A Girl!

The Doc:  Then I’ll call her a she until we know.

I rolled my eyes and concentrated on the blurb that turned out to be my baby.  And the little stinker was kneeling.  The med student engaged us in conversation where we mentioned we had two boys already.

Med student: What do they think?

Me: Well, the two year old has no idea what train wreck is going to hit him.  The four year old is pretty excited.  First he wanted a girl.  But then he wanted a bald baby.  So if it’s a bald baby, it has to be a boy.  He decided we’ll name him Kevin.  Or Elephant.

Med Student: Kevin?  Like from Up?!

Me: I guess so.

Doc:  It looks like Kevin is going to be a good name.  More socially acceptable than Elephant.

The Husband: Are you sure?

We stared at the screen as she moved the instrument around for a good picture of the boy parts.

Doc: Well, I checked several times to make sure that wasn’t the umbilical cord.  But that defiantly looks like boy parts.

Yup.  They sure did.

We watched in silent as she studied the heart and head, explaining what we saw.  Tears formed in my eyes, but I forced them back.

As we left the office with all the pictures, The Husband turned to me.

The Husband: I’m really disappointed.  I totally thought this was a girl.  What are the odds?  Don’t worry, babe, we can always adopt or try again.

Me: I think this will be the last pregnancy.  I don’t know if I can take more vomiting and peeing my pants.  I’m a little disappointed too.  But we really have to rush because I have to make chicken and dumplings at my mom’s.

I told my family as I prepared dinner.  Then when everything was cooking, I called my BFF, who rambled on about her day until I mentioned I went to the doctor.

BFF: Damnit.  I should have called you.  It’s on my calendar!  Well?!

Me: It’s a boy.

BFF: Oh, honey!

Me: I know.  It’s ok.  I only wanted to cry a little bit.

And then I cried.  I cried for five minutes straight.  As my BFF told me it was ok to be disappointed, that it didn’t mean I was a bad mom or that I wouldn’t love the baby any less, it was ok.   I stopped.

Me: So I’m a mom of a troop of boys.

BFF: Yup.

Me: It’s going to be fun.

BFF: Yup.

And I felt better as we talked.

I always pictured having a daughter, even as a child.  But what do I need a girl for?  Someone who would bake and cook with me.  I never wanted to be in the kitchen when I was a kid, unless it was baking.  My brother learned to cook at my mother’s side.  I learned after I left the house.  Did you know there’s a wrong way to eat a tomato?  Someone to shop with me?  I hate shopping, except with certain people.  In college someone would drag me to the mall, and I would sit with the boyfriends (with a backward nod and How’s it going) as I nearly died of boredom as the girl tried on thing after thing.  Play faeries with?  Actually the boys love Tinker Bell.  They love my little pocket toys and my faeries.  I guess I’ll be buying the Tinker Bell movies for Christmas.  Doing a little girl’s hair?  I hate doing hair.  As a little girl, I would cringe as my mom put the dead hair she pulled out of the brush in my hands, and that was after begging and sobbing not to make me hold it.  To teach someone to wear make-up?  I only wear make-up at grown up events.

As I talked to the BFF, I told her what I (and she) believed.  God gives us what we need; not what we want.  How easy would it be to raise a feminist girl?  A tomboy and princess all rolled into one?  Easy.  (So says the woman without daughters.)  But I have to raise feminist boys.  Boys that will go through a stage that girls are yucky, a stage where girls are stupid, a stage when girls are just to mess around with.  I get to crack heads and teach manners.  I have to be stronger to prove women are strong.  I also have to bone up on my sports skills so they know exactly how a girl throws.  (In my peak, I could throw a softball with one bounce from the back of centerfield to home plate.)  I have my work cut out for me, but I plan on raising the good guys that any mother would be proud to call son one day.

I think I cursed myself.  I said on some radical feminist blog that it’s an adult that makes a toy gender specific.  What makes a car a boy toy?  What makes a doll a girl toy?  Then I turned around and told my pen pal that I couldn’t find any craft kits for boys because they were all about making jewelry and spa stuff.  My pen pal asked, “Wouldn’t your boys love making sparkly jewelry?”  Damnit.  Yes, they would.  Just like Tornado E would be thrilled with a Tinker Bell doll.  And wings.

As my BFF and I began to end our conversation, she giggled.

Me: What?

BFF: The Husband was sweet to be disappointed.  But I think he wanted you to have a girl because he thinks the boys are for him.  (pause for breath)  What he doesn’t realize is they are all for you.  Besides boys are closer to their mothers.

I smiled.  She was right, as usual.  Didn’t I just read a book about this?

That night as The Husband crawled into bed, he tried to cheer me up because he hadn’t realized I was so over being sad.

The Husband: Babe, you’re going to one protected woman.

I smiled as I pictured myself surrounded by three strapping boys.

Me: Don’t you forget it.

The Husband: Hey, I’m one of them!

Sure, you are.

Thank you to all the wonderful people who commented on A Dark Secret.  You rock my world and made me feel so much better.  I’ll answer everyone later today, but I thought I would get this up for my East coast readers.

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A Dark Secret

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.

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An Amendment

(Faemom peeks around the door, takes a deep breath, and runs to the key board to begin typing.)


Ok, I have to do this post seriously and this is like my thirtieth try.  Do you remember yesterday’s post, Hey is that a soap box?: Sugar Babies and Daddies?  Well, it turns out my husband read it too (and apparently he’s been reading my posts this week).  He read yesterday’s post and took away the valuable lesson that his wife is willing to divorce him at the drop of a hat. ————————-  (See THAT!  That was an edited joke.  *sigh* This is so hard.  Comedy is in my blood.  Ok, deep breath.)


Well, I’m not.  ———————– *take a deep breath*  I pointed out that if he decided he wanted  ————- a mistress that he was welcome to her as soon as we signed the papers, and damn straight, he was going to pay through the nose for the privilege. 


My husband would like to reassure my readers that he has no interest in finding some one else because ————— – he loves me.  (anditstooexpensive)  He loves the boys.  He loves our family.  He loves our home.  ———————–  He would never endanger that for some gold digger.  I believe him.  I also mentioned that he could always go on the blog and defend himself, like ck’s husband.  But he just threatened starting his own blog, and the scary part is he does internet marketing.


Ok.  Now I have to write something funny and email the full transcript to my best friend because I need to share with SOMEONE my comedic genius.




Halloween Indecision

First it was a witch.  A boy witch.

Then Evan wanted to be a ghost.  Who can blame him?  The Haunted Mansion ghosts are cool.

Then Saturday he tried to decide between a princess in a castle or a faery in a castle.  Yes, I did ask, “Do you mean a prince?”  He assured me he wanted to be a princess.  Then he saw the faery costumes in the catalogue, and he declared he wanted to be a faery.  Unfortunately we were on the phone with my father-in-law who said there were no boy faeries.  Oh yeah, what about Oberon or Puck?  Give me some credit; I’m not going to put him in a dress with tights.  I’ll figure something out.

Today he wanted to be a purple witch or a purple ghost.  When I mentioned I’ve never seen a purple ghost and that they are usually white.  Evan declared he will be a purple boy witch along with Papi, Grandma, Grandma-great. 

I hate to stiffle his creativity.  I promise to keep it in context with society on some level.  I can’t wait to show him the pictures when he’s ten and hates girls.  I just better make the costume soon or who knows what he’ll come up with.