I’m sitting on the couch next to Boo. The Envelope that lays in his hands will change our lives forever. “I’ll unseal it and you pull out the paper,” he says. He does just that, and in my hands lies the answer to this crucial question: is it a boy or a girl?
The tip of my fingers pinch the folded paper inside. Before the answer is fully revealed, I see thick, baby blue ink. Blue is for boy, I think in a panic. Paper unfolded and it reads: IT’S A BOY!
Holy crap! I have a penis growing inside of me.
My heart drops. Disappointment hits as I envision my boy jumping in mud and picking his nose. I’ve been around boys; they do these things! It does not bode well for this germaphobe who can’t ride a bike or throw a ball, and refuses to play in the rain because her Dominican hair will frizz. And then there’s his penis. My baby boy will shoot urine straight from a penis — and onto my face. I’ve seen it happen. My cousin, Yari, is the mother of three boys and has swallowed so much baby boy urine, you’d think she would have died of toxic shot. Instead, at 40 years old, she’s spry, uber sexual and doesn’t look a day over 30. Maybe baby boy urine is the fountain of youth! I’ll let you know. Because I have a penis growing inside of me.
I look over at Boo, and he’s beaming. He wanted a boy just as bad as I wanted a girl. Turns out this is quite the norm. We often want a baby of the same gender. Women who desire a daughter want to share female camaraderie. You want to replicate the relationship you had with your loving mother, or create a better relationship if you had a tumultuous one. I pictured manicure dates with my baby girl, shopping for prom dresses, and providing her with sex and relationship advice like the expert that I am. Boo imagined taking our boy out to the ball game and teaching him how to be confident with girls. He gets to live that dream, I don’t. So, in that moment all I can think is: what will I do with a boy?
“Are you unhappy?” Boo asks, snapping out of his blissful reverie.
I shake my head. I couldn’t be honest with him. Although gender disappointment is real, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. So I answered like a good and proper mom-to-be: “Of course I’m happy. Our baby is healthy. That’s what matter.”
And I really do mean that. Though I badly wanted a girl, my baby’s good health is truly what’s important. As long as the penis growing inside of me can stand erect, express his thoughts and emotions without fear, treat others with love and respect, love himself, and excel in life, I am a happy mama.