Yes, I Was Disappointed When I Found Out the Gender
At 18-weeks pregnant, I went with my husband to one of those 3D ultrasound clinics that specialize in determining gender. Yes, we could have waited for our 20-week anatomy scan, but we just couldn’t be left in the dark any longer.
With my oldest, we had an answer within 30 seconds. A girl. There was no mistaking it, according to the technician. This baby, however, seemed to be incredibly shy. Its legs were crossed and curled up underneath its little body, blocking any hope of getting a glimpse of the goods.
I walked. I bounced. I drank soda. I ate candy. I poked my belly from all angles. My husband twirled me in circles like we were dancing. And after three hours, the tech (with a second opinion from a fellow technician!) finally felt confident to tell me, “Girl!”
Queue pure glee.
Regardless of the fact that I told everyone, “Oh, as long as it’s healthy, I’ll be happy,” I wanted another girl. My sister is my best friend and has been since I was a teenager. The bond between sisters is something that can’t be replicated in any other sibling combination, and the same goes for that mother-daughter connection once they make it to adulthood. As long as I have my mom and sister, I am good to go, and learning that I was going to have my own version of that was amazing to me. Two little girls. Just as I always wanted.
For a month, I walked around on air. I patted my tummy, calling her by the name we had chosen: Samantha. I began going through my oldest daughter’s clothes, squealing over the things I had forgotten about, picturing the new baby in them.
Then I went to my official anatomy scan.
I told the tech that it was a girl, so she didn't need to worry about ruining the surprise by calling her a “she.” Within 20 seconds of rubbing the wand over my tummy, she said, “Well, it’s definitely not a girl.”
My heart fell, and my eyes began to water. I wanted to jump up from the table and run to the bathroom so I could cry in peace. The mental image of the family I had always dreamed of having disappeared.
After leaving the clinic and spending a good 10 minutes crying in my car, I made it home and turned to social media. I kept it light and upbeat and announced that, “Oops! She is a HE, now!” Short and to the point, with no mention of how I truly felt, which was completely disappointed.
I hid it as best I could from my husband and family, but they knew, and they could tell I was upset.
A boy? Really? I knew there was a 50/50 chance of having one in the first place, but I always felt the universe knew what I was supposed to have. Not to mention the fact that I had zero experience with little boys—no brothers, no nephews, no boy cousins. I don’t even think I had babysat a boy.
As the weeks have passed, though, the shock has worn off. We decided on a name—Jackson Samuel—as a tribute to both my father and grandfather, which makes me light up when I think about it. I have begun decorating the nursery in steel gray, teal, and greens, and it’s really coming together.
I also started hanging out with a friend who has a 6-month-old son and have realized that, wow, baby boys can be cuddly!
From the minute I found out I was pregnant, I never even pictured myself with a boy. But now that I've had a few months to visualize myself as a mom to a little boy, I realize what an amazing adventure it’s going to be—something completely different than anything I’m used to. Plus, he’s going to have my husband’s darling features. I will have two handsome boys to love me and my little girl by my side. What could be better?