(This is from my blog, I wrote it when I was 34 weeks pregnant)
With my first child, you could say that I had no preference on the sex of my baby. Given that it was my first, and Id never had a Real Live Newborn baby before, anything would have been fine, though perhaps there was a slight preference for a girl on my part, finding out I was having a boy didnt phase me in the slightest. Id probably have other kids, I figured, so there would always be a girl later on.
Either way, I knew I was having a boy from day one. I never questioned it, and when I went for my morphology scan at 19 weeks, and then told me they spotted a penis, there was no sense of surprise, it was merely telling me what I already knew.
At my baby shower in Florida, I drowned in a sea of blue. Baby blues, cornflower blues, powder blues.. and to a lesser extent navy blues. Blue dominated everything, from the icing on the cake to the balloons, the gift wrap to the ribbon. Blue teddy bears, blue Baby Gap onesies, tiny blue socks and blue satin edged blankets. When we were done, I packed a suitcase overflowing with baby blue and dragged it back to New Zealand with me.
I gave in to the blue that dominated everywhere.
When we found out that we were expecting a baby on 16th July 2011. From the moment those two lines appeared on the HPT, I knew it was a girl I was growing. Things were different. My husband and son both immediately began to talk of the daughter and sister they were going to have. Because my first son had taken me on such a rough journey, I too was drawn towards the idea of a girl the polar opposite of my son. The girl who would sleep through the night early on, who would not drive me to the severe Post Natal Depression that rocked the foundations of motherhood for me. A little sister for my big boy.
All of the signs were there that pointed to the girl I was carrying. My morning sickness, which had been swift in passing with my first, kicked in early and violently. Constant nausea that drove me to the edge. I craved fruits, with my first it was meat. My breasts grew from a modest C to a large E within weeks, where they had stayed a B/C throughout with my first son. The old wives tales all told me it was a girl. The Chinese gender chart said boy, but had said girl with my first, so I put no faith in it. But still I refused to give in to accepting I had a girl growing inside me. We started browsing in baby shops, and I couldnt bring myself to look at the rows of pink frills and bows, when my husband would exclaim at the cuteness of an item he found on the girls racks, I would refuse to look, I would turn away. I couldnt allow myself to get my hopes up that much. I focused on the 1/4 shop of boys clothes. The dull pastel blues and Lil Monster t-shirts in every conceivable size to take our child through from birth to the day he left home. Cargo pants. Dinosaurs. Trucks.
I knew I would have time to adjust to the idea of either sex for my baby, after all, I found out at 19 weeks with my son, so I went into my nuchal fold scan with no apprehension, just excitement to see the baby growing in me, to connect to this new little person, to feel that it truly was real until the point the flutters would start and my belly grew firm and large.
12 weeks and 3 days, the ultrasound technician exclaimed do you want to know what you are having?. I barely had a moment to reply, before she said because Im 99% sure you are having a boy.
My heart stopped.
I had no time to prepare for this. I hadnt put my walls up. I hadnt braced myself for possibly hearing that it was another boy. My husband beamed beside me, despite his insistence he wanted a daughter, he was thrilled. I choked back tears.
For days I pored over the DVD of the scan we were given, Googling nub shots and ultrasounds photos, comparing mine to theirs. I posted on a gender forum, I was told it was a classic boy nub. I got congratulations. I felt angry. Then I felt numb. I knew it was a boy. 1% was too small a chance to cling to.
I tried to drag myself out of a terrible sadness that took hold of me without warning. I would go to baby shops, desperate to make myself feel OK with this, to find something that connected me with this baby. But the pastel blues were unavoidable. Every shop was filled with the same repulsive clothing, the same embroidered puppies, the same dinosaur motifs. Eventually, I stopped bothering to look at all.
I called my mother to tell her that she was having another grandson. Oh, thats a shame, why cant you be having a girl? She said. She made her excuses and hung up on me. She came to visit me and we took a rare (for me) visit to a baby shop. She steered me towards the rows of pink, picking up cardigans and frilled skirts and sighing heavily, looking at me with an expression of disappointment.
My grandmother called me, and I told her that I was pregnant with another boy. Oh, what a pity. She said. My tears started immediately.
The sense of immense guilt was overwhelming. I had failed. Neither my mother nor my grandmother had any interest in this baby because he had a penis, not a vagina. Because they couldnt buy pink, or knit pink, it was pointless. My husband had wanted a daughter and I couldnt give that to him. I was devastated.
People told me that it wasnt a done thing. Not to feel down, there was still a chance. It made things worse. Instead of feeling connected to this baby and being reassured about all of the wonderful things that baby boys bring with them, I just felt like I was being told to hold onto the 1% hope instead. That it was better to hold on to the 1% than to accept him for what he was.
I cried almost every day. With every friends announcement that they were joining team pink, I sunk a little deeper. With every time I was asked do you know what you are having? and then the inevitable sympathetic look when I told them I was having my second boy, I became more disconnected. Boys, it seemed, were merely tolerated, while all around me all I could see was the celebration of girls. Of their beauty, of their sweetness, of their utter loveliness, sugar and spice a stark contrast to the rough and tumble of boys, the frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails.
20 weeks came, my morphology scan. They asked again if we wanted to know. I said we already did. She swiped the wand over the babys genitals anyway. No surprises there. I hadnt even clung to that 1% hope like everyone said I should. I didnt really care.
I am 34 weeks pregnant, and I wish I could say that it has completely passed, that I feel 100% connected and loving towards this baby, that I do not fear he will be a clone of my first. I can say that it is better it does get better. Instead of avoiding shopping, I set to work trying to find the things that made it seem OK. Instead of giving in to the repulsive baby blues, I spent my days Googling for hip baby boys clothes, for bright grass greens and black and white stripes, for chocolate browns and organic oranges. I rejected this notion that he would have to fit the Pumpkin Patch mould of what a baby boy should be. That he must be Mummys Lil Monster and a #1 Sports Fan. I have decorated his nursery in shades of green and brown and orange. I have sewed him a quilt to match, in the shades that didnt scream to me baby boy!.
Things have become easier as he moved more and his kicks became more obvious, his personality developing every day and noticeable in the way he insists we rub the soles of his feet through my belly, and when he jumps at loud noises.
Do I still feel sad? There are moments where I pass a woman and her daughter in the street or in a shop and I feel a pang of sorrow. Sometimes I will see a beautiful girls dress in a shop and Ill have to turn away because the sadness takes my breath away. It doesnt consume me like it once did, for that I am so grateful.
Ive been asked a few times if we will try for another to have a shot at a girl. I dont think we will. Realising that it was unlikely that I would go through another pregnancy given my emotional struggles this time around has brought it into reality that the daughter I imagined that I would have will never exist. I have grieved her, mourned her death as if she had lived and been a part of my life. I have buried Elora, the baby girl who wont be a part of our lives, who doesnt exist except in the barest remnant of fantasy.
Ive been called sick in the head. Ive been told that its disgusting that I could feel the slightest disappointment in the sex of my baby. That surely I had known before we were TTC that it was 50/50 and that I didnt have an option. Ive been looked down upon and told I dont deserve to have children, that I should take a good hard look at women who cannot conceive and be grateful for what I have.
I am grateful. Never mistake my sorrow for anything other than what it is.
Guilt, that I couldnt fulfill the needs of the people around me, and for feeling so much grief.
Grief, for the daughter I will never hold in my arms or send down the aisle.
This child is loved, he will be loved, he will know he is loved. Penis or not.
With my first child, you could say that I had no preference on the sex of my baby. Given that it was my first, and Id never had a Real Live Newborn baby before, anything would have been fine, though perhaps there was a slight preference for a girl on my part, finding out I was having a boy didnt phase me in the slightest. Id probably have other kids, I figured, so there would always be a girl later on.
Either way, I knew I was having a boy from day one. I never questioned it, and when I went for my morphology scan at 19 weeks, and then told me they spotted a penis, there was no sense of surprise, it was merely telling me what I already knew.
At my baby shower in Florida, I drowned in a sea of blue. Baby blues, cornflower blues, powder blues.. and to a lesser extent navy blues. Blue dominated everything, from the icing on the cake to the balloons, the gift wrap to the ribbon. Blue teddy bears, blue Baby Gap onesies, tiny blue socks and blue satin edged blankets. When we were done, I packed a suitcase overflowing with baby blue and dragged it back to New Zealand with me.
I gave in to the blue that dominated everywhere.
When we found out that we were expecting a baby on 16th July 2011. From the moment those two lines appeared on the HPT, I knew it was a girl I was growing. Things were different. My husband and son both immediately began to talk of the daughter and sister they were going to have. Because my first son had taken me on such a rough journey, I too was drawn towards the idea of a girl the polar opposite of my son. The girl who would sleep through the night early on, who would not drive me to the severe Post Natal Depression that rocked the foundations of motherhood for me. A little sister for my big boy.
All of the signs were there that pointed to the girl I was carrying. My morning sickness, which had been swift in passing with my first, kicked in early and violently. Constant nausea that drove me to the edge. I craved fruits, with my first it was meat. My breasts grew from a modest C to a large E within weeks, where they had stayed a B/C throughout with my first son. The old wives tales all told me it was a girl. The Chinese gender chart said boy, but had said girl with my first, so I put no faith in it. But still I refused to give in to accepting I had a girl growing inside me. We started browsing in baby shops, and I couldnt bring myself to look at the rows of pink frills and bows, when my husband would exclaim at the cuteness of an item he found on the girls racks, I would refuse to look, I would turn away. I couldnt allow myself to get my hopes up that much. I focused on the 1/4 shop of boys clothes. The dull pastel blues and Lil Monster t-shirts in every conceivable size to take our child through from birth to the day he left home. Cargo pants. Dinosaurs. Trucks.
I knew I would have time to adjust to the idea of either sex for my baby, after all, I found out at 19 weeks with my son, so I went into my nuchal fold scan with no apprehension, just excitement to see the baby growing in me, to connect to this new little person, to feel that it truly was real until the point the flutters would start and my belly grew firm and large.
12 weeks and 3 days, the ultrasound technician exclaimed do you want to know what you are having?. I barely had a moment to reply, before she said because Im 99% sure you are having a boy.
My heart stopped.
I had no time to prepare for this. I hadnt put my walls up. I hadnt braced myself for possibly hearing that it was another boy. My husband beamed beside me, despite his insistence he wanted a daughter, he was thrilled. I choked back tears.
For days I pored over the DVD of the scan we were given, Googling nub shots and ultrasounds photos, comparing mine to theirs. I posted on a gender forum, I was told it was a classic boy nub. I got congratulations. I felt angry. Then I felt numb. I knew it was a boy. 1% was too small a chance to cling to.
I tried to drag myself out of a terrible sadness that took hold of me without warning. I would go to baby shops, desperate to make myself feel OK with this, to find something that connected me with this baby. But the pastel blues were unavoidable. Every shop was filled with the same repulsive clothing, the same embroidered puppies, the same dinosaur motifs. Eventually, I stopped bothering to look at all.
I called my mother to tell her that she was having another grandson. Oh, thats a shame, why cant you be having a girl? She said. She made her excuses and hung up on me. She came to visit me and we took a rare (for me) visit to a baby shop. She steered me towards the rows of pink, picking up cardigans and frilled skirts and sighing heavily, looking at me with an expression of disappointment.
My grandmother called me, and I told her that I was pregnant with another boy. Oh, what a pity. She said. My tears started immediately.
The sense of immense guilt was overwhelming. I had failed. Neither my mother nor my grandmother had any interest in this baby because he had a penis, not a vagina. Because they couldnt buy pink, or knit pink, it was pointless. My husband had wanted a daughter and I couldnt give that to him. I was devastated.
People told me that it wasnt a done thing. Not to feel down, there was still a chance. It made things worse. Instead of feeling connected to this baby and being reassured about all of the wonderful things that baby boys bring with them, I just felt like I was being told to hold onto the 1% hope instead. That it was better to hold on to the 1% than to accept him for what he was.
I cried almost every day. With every friends announcement that they were joining team pink, I sunk a little deeper. With every time I was asked do you know what you are having? and then the inevitable sympathetic look when I told them I was having my second boy, I became more disconnected. Boys, it seemed, were merely tolerated, while all around me all I could see was the celebration of girls. Of their beauty, of their sweetness, of their utter loveliness, sugar and spice a stark contrast to the rough and tumble of boys, the frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails.
20 weeks came, my morphology scan. They asked again if we wanted to know. I said we already did. She swiped the wand over the babys genitals anyway. No surprises there. I hadnt even clung to that 1% hope like everyone said I should. I didnt really care.
I am 34 weeks pregnant, and I wish I could say that it has completely passed, that I feel 100% connected and loving towards this baby, that I do not fear he will be a clone of my first. I can say that it is better it does get better. Instead of avoiding shopping, I set to work trying to find the things that made it seem OK. Instead of giving in to the repulsive baby blues, I spent my days Googling for hip baby boys clothes, for bright grass greens and black and white stripes, for chocolate browns and organic oranges. I rejected this notion that he would have to fit the Pumpkin Patch mould of what a baby boy should be. That he must be Mummys Lil Monster and a #1 Sports Fan. I have decorated his nursery in shades of green and brown and orange. I have sewed him a quilt to match, in the shades that didnt scream to me baby boy!.
Things have become easier as he moved more and his kicks became more obvious, his personality developing every day and noticeable in the way he insists we rub the soles of his feet through my belly, and when he jumps at loud noises.
Do I still feel sad? There are moments where I pass a woman and her daughter in the street or in a shop and I feel a pang of sorrow. Sometimes I will see a beautiful girls dress in a shop and Ill have to turn away because the sadness takes my breath away. It doesnt consume me like it once did, for that I am so grateful.
Ive been asked a few times if we will try for another to have a shot at a girl. I dont think we will. Realising that it was unlikely that I would go through another pregnancy given my emotional struggles this time around has brought it into reality that the daughter I imagined that I would have will never exist. I have grieved her, mourned her death as if she had lived and been a part of my life. I have buried Elora, the baby girl who wont be a part of our lives, who doesnt exist except in the barest remnant of fantasy.
Ive been called sick in the head. Ive been told that its disgusting that I could feel the slightest disappointment in the sex of my baby. That surely I had known before we were TTC that it was 50/50 and that I didnt have an option. Ive been looked down upon and told I dont deserve to have children, that I should take a good hard look at women who cannot conceive and be grateful for what I have.
I am grateful. Never mistake my sorrow for anything other than what it is.
Guilt, that I couldnt fulfill the needs of the people around me, and for feeling so much grief.
Grief, for the daughter I will never hold in my arms or send down the aisle.
This child is loved, he will be loved, he will know he is loved. Penis or not.
My story is very similar to yours. I'm 35 weeks with boy #2, and I still haven't completely come to terms with it. I feel sad most days, and of course I'm hopeful that none of it will matter when I meet my son, but I'm not so sure. It took me quite a long time to bond properly with my son, and I know I can't really count of that love-at-first-sight feeling. I wish I had something reassuring to say, but I'm the last person who should be giving advice on this. I just wanted to say thank you being brave enough to share, it really helps to hear that someone else is still struggling at this stage of the pregnancy.
