On a Gender

There is much anticipation when any child comes to a family.  We've been anxious and nervous and excited each time I've been pregnant to find out the gender of our children before they were born.  And given that Jay is the giving sort, he has seen fit to generously pass along his Y chromosome allowing me to experience the joy of having my three sons.  But there is a progression that took place with each pregnancy regarding the gender of our children.

Having Drew was just plain exciting.  Our first child and the first grandchild for the Lewis side and a boy.  Perfect.

When Owen came along I got the first inkling of the curiosity and drama that surrounds the gender.  I was asked a few times, "Do you want a girl?" And I always answered with the benign, "I just want a healthy baby."  But when it was determined that Owen was indeed an Owen and not an Olivia....I got multiple, "Oh!  How nice to have two boys close in age.  They'll be such good friends."

But when Kai was squirming around in my alarmingly protruding belly the question of "What is it?" reached a fevered pitch and was accompanied by..."I hope it is a girl!"  "You need a girl!"  or "Did you try for a girl?" (to which I sweetly replied, "Nope.  I tried for a baby.) And when I said, "We're having our third boy!" The general reply was one of disappointment, "Are you sad you didn't get your girl?"  I just rubbed my belly and said, "I'm happy to have my boy."


There are a range of emotions to feel if I were to have a boy or a girl:


When I look into the future as a mother of 4 boys I feel privileged, special and honored to bring up men who respect women, make an honest living and take care of their Mama when she gets old and cranky (or crankier, as the case may be.)  Four boys who always give her a kiss on the cheek even though their friends are in the room.  I think about how photographers are going to have to say, "Alright.  Just a minute....let me back up so I can get all of you in the shot and not cut off your mother's head in the picture."  (Because they'll likely tower over me like redwoods over an apple tree by the time they are 15.)  I envision my sassy leopard print peep-toe shoes side-by-side with 5 pairs of (including Jay's) stinky, clown sized clod-hoppers in the entryway of our home.


If I have a little girl I anxiously await the time when the rest of the rainbow is opened up to me and I can purchase pink and purple and mint green and patterns beyond stripes and plaid.  I giggle at the nights Jay will spend interrogating gangly, squeaky-voiced teenage boys at the threshold of our house before they take our daughter on a date.  "What are your intentions?  Where do your hands go?  Where do you hands NOT go?  When will you be back?"  And I pray that I eventually get phone calls from her when she has a question about her newborn or when her toddler channels Picasso with her red nail polish on her newly purchased bedspread. (To which I suppress a giggle, just as my Mom does.)

I've made a trip to the inner recesses of my soul and searched long and hard to see how I would feel if this is a girl or a boy.  I do not care one way or the other.  Honestly and truly.  Events of the past few years have taught me a lot about the preciousness of a child and how they are on loan to us to teach and nurture and love the best we can while we have them.  

What I want is a healthy baby.  Yes.  Most definitely.   I want my child.  However he/she comes to me.  I'll have the privilege to get to know his/her spirit no matter what type of package/body it is wrapped up in.  However.....


I have one teeny-tiny little wish.  Can he/she be calm and quiet and content to sit still instead of relentlessly making mischief and wreaking havoc and calamity?  Can he/she not really have an opinion until they are at least 8 years old?  


I'm not asking much.