“Just so you know, if you decide to have another baby, there’s no guarantee it’ll be a girl,” my mother said without a hint of hesitation. My mom has a knack for sharing her thoughts, often with unfiltered honesty.
I’m the proud mom of two spirited, sweet boys who fill my life with joy. My partner and I envisioned a family with two kids, about five years apart. Our plan was simple: devote ourselves entirely to our first child, then do the same with the second. Ten years of little ones, and then we’d be done. Easy peasy.
During the 20-week ultrasound for our second child, I felt a twist of anxiety in my stomach. What if we were having another boy? That would mean I’d be raising boys for the foreseeable future, and I’d never experience the unique bond of having a daughter.
Up until the last moment, I debated whether to discover the baby’s sex. But when the ultrasound technician revealed the lower half of the baby, it was unmistakable. There he was, legs spread wide, penis boldly pointing upward. I couldn’t help but announce it before the technician could finish.
Having grown up in a household filled with women—my mom, my sister, and me—it was a whirlwind of emotions: think chaos, moods, and My Little Ponies everywhere. Now, my reality is filled with boys, and I embrace my role as Wendy, mother to these lost boys. Honestly, I adore my sons. They are delightful, and I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. I feel complete.
Yet, there are fleeting moments when I find myself pondering what life would be like with a daughter. The cute outfits, the hair-braiding sessions, the milestones like buying her first bra, or the inevitable talks about her period. Sure, she could have been a tomboy who shunned all things traditionally feminine, but I’d still get a glimpse into the “girl world.” I occasionally feel a twinge of longing for those experiences, but nothing that truly devastates me.
However, there’s one deep-seated regret that tugs at my heart, an ache that my sons can never fulfill (unless we stumble upon some miraculous science fiction twist). That’s the heart-wrenching thought of never witnessing my own daughter transition into motherhood. When I dwell on that, my heart feels heavy.
I recognize that even if I had a daughter, she might choose not to become a mother, or it could be a challenge for her. But indulge me in this moment of dreaming.
To the daughter I may never have, I want to be there for you through every step. I want to hold your hair back during those tough early pregnancy days. I want to receive your calls, wondering if those little movements are gas or something more. I’d love to come over when pregnancy feels overwhelming, rub your feet and make you grilled cheese sandwiches, helping to alleviate your worries.
If I’m invited to your birth, I’ll stand by to support you, respecting your wishes if you decide otherwise. I want to be there for you during labor, allowing you to squeeze my hand, moan, or shout as needed. I’ll help instill confidence in your body’s ability to bring life into the world, no matter how the birth unfolds.
Afterward, I want to assist you with nursing, while giving you space to find your rhythm. I’ll cook for you, clean your home, and encourage you to rest with your baby for as long as you need. And if you ever need a break, I’ll gladly step out.
I want to see the love blossom between you and your little one. I want to hear you share your challenges, how you feel like you’ve lost a piece of your old self amidst the chaos of motherhood. I’ll remind you how beautiful you are, especially in those moments when you might not see it yourself.
I wish to draw strength from your journey, seeing elements of myself and my own mother in you, as well as the legacy of mothers before us reflected in your tired, yet radiant eyes. I want to watch you and your baby, peacefully breathing together as you drift off to sleep.
My two sons come from a lineage of nurturing fathers—men who have openly expressed their emotions and cherished their children. If my boys become fathers someday (please, let at least one take that leap!), I’ll undoubtedly shed tears of joy as I witness them embrace their new roles. Perhaps they will partner with women who will allow me to lend support as they navigate motherhood.
Still, I can’t shake this lingering wish—a deep desire to share the journey of motherhood with a daughter of my own.
In summary, while I feel fulfilled as the mother of two boys, a part of me will always long for the experiences I could have shared with a daughter. The bond between mothers and daughters is unique, and it’s a connection I yearn to experience.
Keyphrase: longing for a daughter
Tags: home insemination kit, home insemination syringe, self insemination