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“Girls are drama,” I would tell my co-workers. I’m glad I’m having a boy. Boys are easier. Think how much easier I’ll have it when he’s a teenager.
Then came my second child. I was worried. I’d dodged a bullet with my first pregnancy, but this time I thought for sure I was going to have a girl. How would I handle it? How could I possibly raise a girl?
Then came the results. I was shocked. Another boy. I was part disappointed, part relieved. “Are you going to try for a girl?” friends would ask. “Nope. We’re done,” I would say with certainty. “Girls are drama,” I would say again, convincing myself that it was a good thing I wasn’t having a girl because I couldn’t handle it.
But that’s not the real reason I didn’t want to have a girl. I think the real reason is that I am afraid. I’m afraid I couldn’t teach a daughter how to truly love herself and be a strong, confident woman, because I am not that. I’m afraid she would see through me. She would know that I am not happy with who I am at the core and so she too would struggle with self-worth.
Oh sure I fake it pretty well. I’m admired at work for my accomplishments. I am successful in many things both at work and at home. But women can read other women. My daughter would see my weaknesses. I could not hide them from her. I would be to blame for her lack of self-worth. And I couldn’t live with myself for that.
Maybe that doesn’t make sense. But at any rate, I’m glad I don’t have to find out if I could have raised a girl. I’m happy with my two boys. They are easy to love and they love their mother.
“Boys are easy,” I say with a smile.
A girl? That would be too much like having to look in the mirror.
