Skip to content

I buried the lede

March 27, 2011

Reasons why I suck, #942:

I forgot to mention that we found out the gender. And, oh yeah, it’s a girl.

Which would have been such a delightful post and now is probably thoroughly anticlimactic.

ANYway, let’s pretend this never happened, shall we? Here is the post that we will all pretend I posted at the moment of discovery:

“See those two white lines?” the ultrasound goddess asks me, as My Young Man and I watch a 3-D movie that TOTALLY would have beaten “Avatar” had it not been woefully overlooked by the Oscars.

“Are those the testicles?” I ask, having the perfect boy name in mind if not any idea of how one actually raises a boy (I can barely date one).

“No, those are labia,” she says, and I am simultaneously overjoyed and wondering if perhaps I should have taken Advanced Biology senior year after all.

It’s a girl! Farewell to our perfect boy name (Simon — come on, it’s got cool British Jewish rocker dude written all over it) and hello to fun clothes shopping!

The truth is — and yes, I know exactly how ignorant I am in predicting anything at all about this unknown human swimming where my bladder once roamed freely — I did want a girl, and everyone who knows me knew it. But they might not have known why.

I have a new appreciation for boys, since I teach about 18 of them on a daily basis and find them much more direct and less crisis-prone than the girls in my class. Their interpersonal dealings are more straightforward, and once you can get them to stop hitting each other, you can have real conversations.

But I don’t have the foggiest notion of how to make a boy, particularly of how to make a boy who respects girls, who doesn’t see them as other, or lesser, or even special.

I do, however, know the pitfalls that can befall my own gender, and I dream of enacting my own kind of social experimentation with a little girl. I imagine doing with her what I am currently doing with my female students, as I deftly steer them away from the cheerleader/in-crowd books (there is actually a series called “The Clique,” and I want to hit like a boy) and toward the classics. I’m sneaky with my manipulation, giving them books with a little romance, but books in which the girl ultimately makes decisions independent of whatever boy is in the picture.

Also, as previously mentioned, I really love the book “Eloise” and want to paint the title character on a wall. That may be just a little too much gender fluidity with a male child.

So, if all things go smoothly, I’ll bring home a girl child and install her in a turquoise room, with the perfect purple snowsuit that has been handed down to me, and raise that liberated child until she hits the age of four and starts demanding tutus and tiaras. Which I will be happy to buy her, as long as they come in camouflage. Or with zippers. Maybe a little anarchy symbol?

World, I can’t wait until you meet Guillermo, er, Guillerma.

Advertisements
4 Comments leave one →
  1. Kathy Johnson permalink
    March 28, 2011 9:42 am

    Wonderful sentiment. Haven’t read “Raising Ophelia”, just “Raising Cain” since I have two boys, but I heard it’s a good mommy read.
    Love, love, love your musings!
    Kathy

    • March 29, 2011 9:43 pm

      Thank you! I’m sure you have raised lovely gentlemen … or at least they will be someday.

  2. msmsgirl permalink
    April 3, 2011 11:30 pm

    Hooray!! mazel tov, I check here periodically for updates and am SO happy and relieved that all is well, and that you’re baking a baby feminist in there! 🙂 🙂

    • April 4, 2011 7:04 am

      Thank you! Of course, I’ll probably end up to with the next Michele Bachmann — isn’t that supposed to be the nature of child-rearing?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s