It's a Boy!

If you ask any expectant mother which gender she prefers to be carrying, she’ll most likely tell you “It doesn’t matter--As long as the baby is healthy.” Sorry, but I’m not buying it. The truth is (deep down) every mom has a preference. And for me, it was girl.

Brace yourself. It’s about to get real honest up in here.

For as far back as I can remember I have had a love of all things pink. If you ask my mom she’ll tell you how I wore a frilly dress to pre-school everyday and absolutely refused to wear pants. It was certainly no coincidence that all of my cabbage-patch-dolls were girls and I totally LIVED for the reveal of my spring dance recital costume. That’s right--There was no question about which gender I preferred to reside inside my growing belly, and those who knew me didn’t have to ask.

When it came time for the long-anticipated “pink or blue” ultrasound, I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. The entire morning leading up to the big event, I kept wondering how I would react to the news of “boy.”  Would I be able to hide my disappointment? After all, I had been listening to unsolicited opinions from every Tom, Dick and Harry for weeks now. “Oh, you’re carrying low. Must be a boy!” And my personal favorite, “You’re face is so full. Definitely girl!”  

The tech took as long as she possibly could to deliver our fate. Listen lady, I couldn’t care less about the measurement of my kid’s feet. Yeah, baby feet are cute. I get it.  Do you see a Johnson or what?!

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally said the words we had waited twenty long weeks to hear. “Do you want to know the sex?” she asked us. My husband and I exchanged obvious glances. Duh. Why are you torturing us?!

“It’s a boy!”

Of course it was. I knew it was a boy from the second I peed on that damn stick. Dreams of tutus and tap shoes danced right out of my head. I tried to catch them but they had already been replaced with frightening images of dirty fingernails, dump trucks and lizards. Yuck.  Even the ear-to-ear grin on my husband’s face couldn’t make me excited. A boy. What the hell was I going to do with a boy?

That night, I cried. I felt so guilty for feeling the way I did. After all, my baby was healthy and that was all that mattered, right? I would have more children. I had other chances to have a girl. And a girl would need a big brother to protect her. I tried hard to convince myself.

In the following weeks I had a very hard time bonding with the little boy inside of my belly. I know this sounds sad, but it is very true. I didn’t talk to my belly. I didn’t look forward to a baby shower filled with all things blue and I certainly wasn’t impressed with the baby boy clothing selection. I couldn’t even bring myself to make a nursery, let alone pick out a name. Sure, I loved my baby, but there was a definite disconnect.  Every “boy mom” would try hard to sway me. “There’s something so special about a mother and son bond,” they would say. “Boys LOVE their mommies!” Whatever. These moms were obviously impervious to the power of giant flower headbands. I worried day and night I wouldn’t love my little boy.

I think you see where this is going.

Now that I have been a “boy mom” for over almost five months, I am ecstatic to report just how wrong and ridiculous I was. The very second I laid eyes on him I fell head over heels in love. The bond between us was immediate. I couldn’t believe how much energy I had wasted worrying. The love that you feel for your child has absolutely nothing to do with gender, nor flower headbands (though they are adorable!)  It’s a natural emotion that I could have never predicted before holding him in my arms.

I absolutely love being Mason’s mommy. And trust me, he is ALL boy. He is as rambunctious as they come and let’s just say his, eh hem, flatulence can rival a grown man. I can totally picture myself cheering him on at his football games, and proudly replying “boy” when they ask me about gender specification for that infamous toy in his happy meal. I find myself daydreaming about the kind of teenager he will one day be, and can’t believe that one day I will get to have a special dance with him at his wedding.

I can’t speak for moms of girls, but I can tell you that being the mom of a little boy is truly unique and so special. I’m quite certain I’ve begun to overuse the phrase “my boys” when referring to my son and husband but I can’t help it. I love the reminder that I am the most important woman in both of their lives and that I don’t have to share the spotlight.  Maybe one day I will have a little girl, but for now, I am just fine with dump trucks and lizards. (The dirty fingernails are another story!)