When I was pregnant with my second, I had an eighteen month old son. I loved him with every once of my being, of course, and I loved that he was a boy. No real reason, except I didn’t know much about boys before him, and there was something about the discovery that was fascinating and fulfilling.
But in the ultrasound room, when the nurse asked us if we wanted to know the gender, and my husband and I nodded, and she pointed, and I thought I saw a little penis, I was disappointed. Just for a second, but I was.
And then she said, See that? That cheeseburger looking thing? It’s a girl!
I was so excited for a girl. For a calmer version of my son, for a different relationship than the one I had already. But as soon as she came screaming into the world, it…
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