So do you think you’re having a boy or girl?
Ah, yes. The ever so popular round-about way of asking, “do you want a daughter or a son?” Let me tell you – a mother cannot feel what sex they are having. I’ve never been pregnant with a boy but I’m pretty sure a mom cannot feel a baby penis poking her. This question implies what sex does the mother want.
The correct answer to this question is, “it doesn’t matter. A healthy baby.”
I’m sure there are some moms out there that could care less about the sex of their child. Not me. My raging, hormonal mess of a mouth would have told you a girl and stop asking me questions before I stab your eyes out. Now get out of my way so I can dry heave over the toilet.
I didn’t want girls just so I could dress them up in dresses and bows to play Princess Tea Party. I hate tea. And I can just as easily teach a son how to speak in an English accent. Honestly, dah-ling.
The reason I wanted girls was because I needed balance in the household.
The testosterone levels shoot through the roof of our house. If it has no emotion – it’s at my house:
Hockey sticks, guns, whiskey, canned beer, bottled beer, home-made beer from taps, dead deer on the walls, a 4-wheeler, a Ford truck, hole-y boxer briefs on the floor, dirty plates under the bed, beard shavings left in the sink, ticks, poison ivy, dingleberry talk, toilet seats left up, deep freeze full of red meat, snoring, toenail clippings on the floor, pee splashes on toilets, loogies in the shower, bows and arrows, duck and goose decoys, muddy footprints, sweat stained shirts, big muscles and protein shakes, the voices of ESPN announcers, cupped farts.
My pregnancy brain was sending me visions of the future: Scott would take his son from my body and run off to a tree stand with baby boy tucked into the crook of his arm. I would get left behind delivering the afterbirth alone. No. We needed a girl. Scott needed to calm down.
I had such fear in the father/son bond that I wanted a girl. A son would only feed the man beast of a husband. I would never have anything in common with a son. I would be the mom that begs her son to have a conversation with me.
My hope was fulfilled with one shot of the double X chromosomes. The moment Emma came busting into the world in tears, Scott cried along with her. Emma was just pissed off she had to breathe on her own. Scott was crying because he fell in love.
I was completely blind sighted by the strength of the father/daughter bond.
Emma has Scott’s “eh, whatever” personality. She leaves dirty clothes on the floor. Mud gets stomped through the house – first with Scott’s footprints followed by Emma’s. Emma picked out a spot in her room for her first taxidermy buck. She’s a sports fan. She doesn’t blink an eye at pulling off a tick from her skin. She’s a master at the kill shots in bow shooting practice.
I will never understand Scott and Emma’s desire to sit in a tree stand for hours. I could never kill an animal. Weapons scare me. Scott and Emma laugh off my sorry attempts at protesting hunting. They are counting down the days until youth deer season in a few weeks. Come opening day, I will be pacing around the house waiting for my daughter to come home so she can tell me all about her big hunt with her dad.
At least she pees with the toilet seat down.