Hoping for a Daughter

I know I shouldn’t say this, but I genuinely hope this next baby is a girl.

In our bustling household, testosterone reigns supreme. My husband is a boat builder, and I have two energetic sons who think the pinnacle of fun involves burping contests, playful wrestling matches, and parading around shirtless to flaunt their budding muscles. Family game night? It inevitably devolves into chaos, and conversations often veer into the realm of bodily functions. Oh, and let’s not even talk about the perpetual faint scent of pee in the bathroom—aim seems to be a foreign concept here! Our home is littered with plastic dinosaurs and ninjas, with our Netflix queue dominated by action-packed thrillers.

Stereotypes aside, our boy-centric home does reflect some of those traditional expectations, even if we don’t enforce them. I adore my sons; they’ve injected a zest for life into my world that I never knew was missing. They’ve taught me the importance of being bold, loud, and letting the little things slide—like lamps that end up broken. Raising my boys has been a thrilling journey, one filled with joy and laughter.

As I approach the birth of our third and final child, I find myself resisting the urge to call my OB-GYN to discover the baby’s gender. Please don’t judge me for this, but I can’t help but wish for a girl. I long to cultivate that special mother-daughter connection that’s often talked about. I dream of dressing her in adorable outfits and hosting tea parties (a venture my boys have shown no interest in—trust me, I’ve tried). I envision empowering conversations about feminism and womanhood.

I listen to my mom friends share tales of their daughters borrowing their makeup or cozy leggings, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy. I scroll through their Instagram posts featuring hair-braiding sessions or creative science projects, and my mind drifts to dreams of sharing those moments with a daughter of my own. My heart aches to pass down the wisdom and stories from my own mother, grandmother, and the vibrant aunts who shaped my life. They instilled in me strength, resilience, and a fierce sense of feminism.

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m raising my sons to be feminists too. We openly discuss issues surrounding gender, such as how girls can be just as strong, fast, and capable as boys. We talk about consent, personal boundaries, and the importance of respecting everyone’s autonomy. Their dad serves as an excellent role model, and we’re committed to nurturing respectful attitudes in our home.

Still, there’s a unique bond between mothers and daughters that I feel is missing from our household. While my connection with my boys is undeniably strong and filled with love, there’s a part of me that yearns for that special relationship with a daughter. I’m hopeful for the future and unashamed of my desires.

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Summary

In a testosterone-fueled household, a mother reflects on the joys and chaos of raising her two sons while yearning for the unique bond a daughter could bring. She dreams of sharing experiences like tea parties and empowering conversations about womanhood, hoping for a girl in her upcoming birth. Despite her commitment to raising her sons with strong feminist values, she acknowledges the special connection that exists between mothers and daughters, expressing her hopes for the future.

Summary

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