We had our anatomy scan yesterday for Baby #2. I”ve had a feeling since early on in my pregnancy that this baby is a boy too, and I was excited that we would know for sure.
Due to our house, and the end of my first pregnancy, and the beginning of this pregnancy, and the postpartum depression after G, not to mention how hard being off my meds has been for the last five months…we had decided fairly early into this pregnancy that two was a good number for our family. And I am okay with that.
That said, I knew no matter what the outcome was yesterday it would be a little bittersweet. If it was a boy, I would be sad to never get a girl: because I am girly, and the idea of dressing a little me in ruffles and bows is appealing. However, we had a name change late in the game with G, giving him his dad’s first name as a middle name instead of my dad’s name, which means a lot to me, so having a girl would be sad that way, I’d never get a chance to name a child after my dad.
I didn’t realize though just how hard it would hit me.
We saw his little face–so much like his big brother and Dad already!–his arms and legs, and I guess, most importantly, his penis. Yup, another boy. I’ll be outnumbered in my house–including cats–five to one. He’s healthy, growing like a weed. All the important things.
But. He’s a he. And even though I was pretty sure early on, it’s still a little disheartening. And putting that into words is hard, because I know how lucky I am to be growing a healthy child. I know women who lost babies, I have friends who can’t get pregnant. I’m lucky. Yes, my pregnancies haven’t been easy on me, but my babies are healthy, and at no point was my life or my child’s life in danger.
We were trying to find a little brother shirt, or something similar, to share our news on social media. We found a really cute little pj set, and a little outfit set, but…there was a little sister set in the same area and it was pink, and cute, and I cried.
Barring a miracle, after June, there will be no more babies coming out of this uterus.
I’m not going to get bows, ruffles, pink, glitter, and princesses. My life is camo, blue, sports, dinosaurs, and dirt. And if Baby 2 is anything like G, there will be a lot of dirt and mud.
And he’s healthy. Which is what matters. And it should be my focus. And I feel selfish because I did want a boy. It’s easier. I know how to deal with boys: I have one! We have clothes, blankets, bedding, everything for a boy. I know how to potty train a little boy–kind of. I know how to change little boy diapers. I wanted a boy, for the name purposes, and because it’s easier for us because we have the stuff.
I think a lot of my emotional response is knowing that this is my last baby. That was my last chance for a girl. My last anatomy scan. My last first kicks and excitedly grabbing my husband’s hand so he can feel the kicks too. (Which sidenote, he did Sunday already! Just before 20 weeks!) My last experience growing and loving something into existence. Maybe the reason I’m struggling is because I keep framing it as “lasts.” Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones.
I know, without a doubt, that I already love this little boy as much as I love his big brother. I know that my life isn’t going to be peaceful at any point in the next 18 years. I know that with two boys the chances of fighting coming to blows escalates, but I also know that brothers are often the closest of friends. I’m so grateful that my boys will have each other, and that they have a great example of what a man should be in their daddy.
But. I think I’ll always be a little sad that I didn’t get to dress my own child in ruffles and sequins too.