Gender Disappointment
I ordered a girl. The universe got my order wrong.

Rachel Rainbolt, M.A., CEIM
www.OhanaWellness.com


I walk into a baby boutique and all I see are the simple, modern, yet girly hair clips on a rotating rack until I turn and see the sweet, yet comfortable looking, almost Hawaiian print sundress.  These seemingly innocuous things somehow suck the oxygen out of my lungs.  The pressure of these unimportant items squeezes my heart so tightly that it labors through each beat.  Yet my legs keep taking steps.  I somehow smile at the nice looking woman behind the register, feeling almost robotic.  And even though I feel like time is moving more slowly, no one else in the store knows. 

I am the mother of two extraordinarily wonderful boys for whom the sun rises and sets in my universe.  I am happy, truly happy.  I am married to my best friend in the kind of marriage that mostRaindropUltrasound people only ever see in cheesy movies.  I am filled with passion and purpose, fulfilled, in a harmonious balance with my work, family, selfhood, and making a positive contribution to the world.  I also carry with me a sadness for the daughter I don’t have.  And I am 16 weeks pregnant with our third and final child: sex unknown.

Coming to the decision to have a third child was a contemplative one for me and my husband.  We felt like we had a little more room in our hearts and lives for one more.  But it wasn’t that simple.  It wasn’t that simple because we want a girl.  The sadness we felt at the news of the male sex of our second baby was profound and so we waited if and until we decided we were in a place where we would truly be at peace with having a third boy.  And I think I’m there.    

Growing up I always pictured myself as a mother to a daughter.   My husband and I had both always wanted a girl.  Before having children we would sit around talking about our future and our family and the picture always contained girls.  It wasn’t that we didn’t want a boy.  It actually wasn’t that at all.  And it wasn’t that our cumulative IQs did not allow for comprehension of the math involved in reproduction.  We just, for some unknown reason, always felt destined to have a girl. 

When laying there in the dimly lit room, staring at the giant flat screen on the wall, belly covered in goop at sixteen weeks pregnant with my first child, I was overcome with excited shock when struck with the image of the large boy part on the screen; completely shocked but excited at the surprising adventure life had in store for me as a mother of a boy.  It was as if in one moment, one instant, the identity that I had always planned for myself had changed.  And since this was my first baby, it was okay that he was a boy because surely, our next child would be a girl. 

Three years later, having the added store of the best three years of my life mothering my first born son, there I was in that same room.  This time we read every book, adhered to every diet, honored the various calendars, and practiced The Secret as religion: this baby was a girl.  Only, he wasn’t.  Once again, a well-endowed Rainbolt boy was announcing himself to me via ultrasound waves but this time I was devastated.  I couldn’t help it. 

It took some mourning over the next few months when no one (except my husband) was looking to really come to terms with it.  It truly felt like mourning, grieving over the loss of the daughter that I didn’t have.  It seemed like nobody understood.  People’s casual comments would feel like they physically cut me.  Sometimes thoughtless: “A boy!?  But girls are so awesome!”  Be thoughtful please, people.  Sometimes well-meaning: “All that matters is that the baby is healthy.”  I loathe when people say this.  It implies that either I don’t care about my baby’s health or all of my feelings are completely discounted.  Sometimes trivializing, “I get it, those little pink dresses are really cute.”  It is not about feminine gender stereotypes or “things” at all.  They are merely a symbol of something that is emotionally-based.  I am not sad because I like the color pink (As a relevant side note, I do not subscribe to gender role limitations.  My son’s favorite color happens to be pink.).  Or “It’s not like you are infertile or someone you love died.” I am not in a grief competition.  Just because you broke your arm doesn’t mean my sore throat doesn’t hurt.  My sadness over not having a girl doesn’t somehow insult the sadness others feel over significant losses.  I could see myself in my mind’s eye with small cuts, slowly bleeding tears but when looking in the mirror, would see my confident, pristine self.  It is not the kind of hurt that overtakes your life.  It did not disrupt my daily functioning.  It did not interfere in any way with my relationship with my son.  It was just there, inside me, living all alone. 

To make matters worse, this hurt seemed to be in a different language than the rest of the world spoke.  I never complained about being pregnant with my son.  But sometimes when people would ask if I was having a boy or a girl they would pick up on a tinge of that sadness and people seemed to be bitterly angered at the slightest hint of anything but gratitude for the pregnancy.  What people don’t understand is that I can feel grateful for my fertility, appreciative for (not taking for granted) the health of this baby, and adoring love for my new baby boy AND simultaneously sad that I am not nurturing a baby girl inside my womb.  I do not love my boys any less than I would if they were girls.  It is a physical impossibility for me to love my boys anymore than I do.  I love each of them more than every drop of sunlight that has ever touched the Earth.  This baby did not disappoint me and my sweet Bailey Sage, now three years old, lives a jubilant life full of unconditional love. I would not give him away or trade him.  As a matter of fact, I would not trade one second of time with him for any other child: boy, girl, or alien.  I just wish I had a daughter. 

Now here we are again, three years later and sixteen weeks pregnant with what I’m sure will be a child as wonderful as my first two children.  We are so happy, excited, and blessed.  But this is it.  This is an identity firming moment.  If this baby is a boy, I am the mother of 3 boys.  I live in a house with 5 boys (counting our dog).  I am the Queen in a land of princes.  And I will also be closing the door on having the baby girl I always dreamed I would have.  I don’t know if I will someday have complete and total peace around the loss of someone so important in my life that I never knew, that never really even existed.  It feels like I loved her before I ever knew her and there is no place for that love to go.  So it just sits, aching, deep in the back of my heart.  My boys are so completely and fully loved.  My heart swells just speaking of them.  But I could no more transfer that love to them than you could just get over the loss of your mother by transferring your love for her to your father.  Love and sadness just don’t always work that way.  If this little Raindrop tickling my belly right now is a boy, I will love him.  I will paint my bedroom purple, embracing my own femininity.  I will adopt a little girl doggy, name her something obnoxious like Princess, and put moronic bows in her fur.  I can’t say that it won’t sting when someone tells me they are pregnant with a girl.  In fact, I’m pretty sure it will sting.  But I will close the door on the pain that hope can sometimes bring, embrace my new identity, live and love my fun life, and find a way to move on. 

But if this baby is a girl (deep sigh), I will be the mother of two sons and a daughter. 

Conclusion to follow…

So here I am, laying in the dimly lit room, staring at the giant flat screen on the wall, belly covered in goop at sixteen weeks pregnant with my third and final child.  My husband is holding my hand, looking more nervous than the day we got married.  My boys are sitting next to us in chairs, mostly playing on the iPad but jumping over and rubbing me lovingly me every few minutes, gazing up at their new baby.  “I remember looking at you when you were in your Mommy’s belly.  And you too!”  Our ultrasound guy is so good, so friendly in a non-creepy way but also ignorantly positive, unaware of the state he has put us in each time we have left his office.  As he glides around on my belly, looking for just the right vantage point, it takes my ears and eyes a good ten seconds to coordinate with my brain and process what has just happened.  “It’s a boy!”  To be more precise, he typed “It’s a boy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

In that ten seconds I can feel the pressure from the door slamming shut.  It momentarily sucks all of the oxygen out of the room and it takes a minute for me to be able to fill my lungs again. It’s as if the entire fabric of the universe has shifted and my husband and I are the only ones who are aware of it.  Deep breath.  Just keep breathing.  I love this wee wiggly one.  I love this baby’s soul, which is genderless, the truest essence of this baby.  I just wish he had sprouted girl parts.  I will never have that moment I’ve dreamt of, overflowing with joy for the honor of that divine feminine energy blooming inside me.  I will never be able to take my powerful, compassionate daughter by the hand and lead her through the experiences the world has to claim.  I smile as we count his ten toes.  God I wish they were “her” toes.  But I can’t wait to kiss each one.  Goodbye to the daughter I inexplicably felt destined to have but never found.  Hello to our newest little Baby Boy Rainbolt.  You are joining your brothers in a legacy of love.    

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