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Before we had children, I would have been the first person to tell you that I didn’t really want to have boys.
For one, I just didn’t think I would. My mom’s side of the family is rather matriarchal. In one of my favorite anecdotes, my mom went to the OBGYN when she was pregnant with me; and, because of my heartbeat, the nurse told her I was probably a boy.
My mom says she told the nurse, “I have FOUR sisters and FIVE nieces. This is a girl.”
She was right. Obviously. (Although she did go on to have six nephews, as well as two more nieces, just on her side of the family.)
So, I always thought I would have all girls. Having just a sister, girls were all I knew.
Secondly, I am plain scared of boys. Little boys who wrestle. Bigger boys who pee in public. Older boys who think too much with that thing they use to pee. It all scares me. Give me princesses, dolls, tea cups. I can do that. Rocks, fighting, He-Men, snakes? Enough to make me hide under the covers.
From week five or six of this pregnancy, I was convinced that tiny baby inside me was a boy. I based this entirely on the fact that my sickness was completely different than when I was pregnant with Libbie. (And if I can have a choice in the future … I would choose Libbie-sickness over David-sickness any day.) I was sick as a dog, but couldn’t throw up. Nothing sounded good, ever. I barely got off the couch for weeks.
Because I had that premonition, I was none too surprised when the woman taking my gall-bladder ultrasound, whom I had begged to take a look at the baby, told me she was 98% sure this wee one was male.
Since he’s been born, people have asked me whether having a boy is different than having a girl. I usually respond that I don’t know if it’s boy/girl or first child/second child differences. David is definitely more mellow. But much less textbook than Libbie. He has strong opinions and makes them known.
But since Libbie was very small, I’ve always felt the push of independence — and quite a bit of prima donna attitude. Those don’t radiate from my small boy. He wants Mama, all the time. He is my sweet-as-sugar Doodle Bug.
He is everything everyone told me a nursing boy would be.
I’m reassured to know that when Libbie is 13 and hates my guts, David will still love me. Right? I’m looking forward to having that mother-son relationship. To knowing the ups and downs of having children of both sexes.
I’m sure it will be a wild ride, but I think I’m ready.