It’s a Girl! Oops. Nope. It’s a Boy!

If you are a mother of only boys, this is not something you ever want to hear from your OB/GYN after delivering your baby.

Did he say “It’s a girl?” –

This was what I asked my husband in the recovery room. I must have had temporary amnesia after the delivery, probably brought on by that pronouncement.

But it came back to me.

Yes –

Is there something wrong with our son? –

No. There is something wrong with your doctor –

(Stop yelling about a healthy baby being a blessing –that sex isn’t important. I know that. Believe me. I know.)

However, it is also ok to confront the fact that not having a daughter is a kind of absence that mothers of boys only (MOBOs) experience. And when you are lying spread eagle exhausted on the table, sweating, panting, bloody, the last thing you can deal with is a ridiculous doctor who can’t tell the difference between a freakin’ boy or the elusive girl baby.

Let me put it out there that there is NOTHING wrong with my son. All the parts are there. I am a qualified expert in that field as I was on diaper duty for four male children.

And yet, I felt not a moment of disappointment, sadness, or shock. My beautiful tiny boy, with denim blue eyes and a mop of white blond hair, looked newly sent from heaven. He was everything to me the moment I held him. I counted his fingers and toes and gently ran my hand over his head, feeling the familiar weight of his newness and thanked G-d he was ok.

For seven months I didn’t know if he would be.

The bleeding started at 8 weeks.

Looking back, the doctor thinks I lost his twin. That accounted for symptoms of a miscarriage while still having a pregnancy. There was a shadow on the sonogram that eventually disappeared into me. Or, as my son surmises, he is so powerful that he absorbed his twin and you know what, that is entire plausible.

I wasn’t sad about the twin, just petrified that I would lose another pregnancy.

The pregnancy before, I ‘d suffered a “silent miscarriage” in my second trimester.

A routine exam.

The look on the sonographer’s face.

I knew.

I’m going to get the doctor. I’m having a little trouble finding the heartbeat –

But just a few weeks ago I’d seen the baby’s heartbeat. Good news. I was told 95% of pregnancies make it to term when you see the heartbeat. But odds never stood in my way unless it involved a lottery ticket.

The next day I had the D&E. My baby had passed at least two weeks before (estimated) but didn’t want to leave on (her?) own.

It isn’t a baby – my husband said.

It isn’t a baby – I repeated.

TBH I handled it like a pro. Totally trusted that there was something wrong and it wasn’t meant to be. And when I got pregnant again, any potential grudge against the powers that be was nulled.

Until week 8.

Months of tests and bedrest and stress trickled by in Worst Case Senario Land. At 26 weeks, I had a two hour sonogram, about an hour and 15 minutes longer than “normal.” Something was wrong and THEY weren’t telling me…

Nothing was wrong.

My son.

When he was born, with all of my soul, I swear to you that the only thing that mattered about his biology that it was healthy. People say that. I swear that.

That does NOT mean that I didn’t grieve not having a daughter somewhere in the lineup. That’s something else entirely, and mothers of boys only know that this does not mean we love or cherish our gifts any less.

We do not wish they had been anything but who they are, and our lives are defined by that infinite love. Hockey gear, sweaty gym bags, constant feedings, wet towels on the floors, toilet seats up, yessss but also that infinite love.

I literally dreamt of having a daughter and woke up feeling sad. I was banned from the girl’s section of BABY GAP, cheerleading my friends as they showed off the sparkly headbands, leotards, and tutus they purchased for their own daughters. They were in the club and I didn’t have the password.

I write this as an older person who has seen my baby boys, who once regarded me as the entire world, who grasped my fingers in their small hands, who ran into my arms at school pickup, who distanced themselves as teenagers and later adult children do, and wonder if it would have been different with daughters. Maybe it would have been worse. But I don’t miss something I never had. I only miss MY baby boys even as I marvel at the astounding men they have become.