It’s a boy.
An actual man is living in my body and I am not entirely sure how I feel about this. Okay, sure I’m delighted but…little boys smell like wagon wheel biscuits and soil.
Absolutely EVERYTHING seems to stick to them. They come home from school with all but a car bumper attached to their blazers. Seriously, it’s like they are made out of velcro for the first decade of their lives.
Every time I try and imagine him, I immediately conjure up a tiny teenage boy. I imagine my womb is filled with discarded lynx cans and unwashed cups. I’m utterly convinced I can hear him strumming the song ‘Lithium’ by Nirvana on the guitar reeeeeally badly.
Before the twenty week scan, my husband and I had already discussed at length that we both wanted to know the sex. This has genuinely annoyed quite a few people we have told.
“Well, you’ve totally ruined the surprise!” Is the most common complaint.
Sorry, the surprise? What surprise exactly? That it is a human being?
The only possible surprise a woman could receive in childbirth would be if the midwife announced “Congratulations, it’s a bowling bowl!” or tearfully exclaimed “It’s a beautiful watermelon!”
I’d actually like that. Purely so I could re-enact Dirty Dancing in the delivery room by looking at my husband wide eyed and say ‘I. Carried. A. Watermelon?’
I assure you that I’m better knowing now what the gender is and not at the birth. If I reacted the same way at my future son’s birth as I did at the twenty week scan, it would be me hysterically laughing at the word penis while my husband sighed and said to the nurse “She’s better than that.” To which I would then reply “Er, no I’m not.” ‘
Honestly, I was sort of expecting a girl. I think because I am a girl. It’s sort of my thing. I was gearing up to raise a princess/warrior/superhero. Basically I was planning to raise Arya Stark from Game of thrones.
I wasn’t planning on a Jon Snow. Or God help me, a Joffrey.
Probably for the best it isn’t a girl. My parenting would be riddled with all of my feminist hopes and contradictions. Nope, no pink…unless you want to wear pink pink is fine…but you don’t have to wear pink…what I’m saying is you don’t have be a tool of evil on the side of gender stereotyping…okay please stop crying.
With a boy…look, I’ll just be really pleased if he doesn’t become a 4chan user.
I am growing some pretty strong white male privilege in my uterus. He could totally be a comedian! Oh God, what if he is a comedian? I know this is wrong but I keep whispering to my unborn foetus “please be a skater or into science or a really flamboyant gay man”. Knowing my luck he’ll probably rebel against my liberalism and be super laddie. I’m going to get a babygro made emblazoned with the words #MAGALUF’2032
The inside of my pregnant hormonal brain at the moment is just a series of WHAT IF bubbles. What if he isn’t happy? What if he is happy? What if he becomes a Tory? Or a pop star? Or Benedict Cumberbatch? Or a millionaire? Or an asshole? What if he gets sick? What if he killed someone? What if he loves football? What if he loves the flute? What if he does’t have any friends? What if he has too many friends and we only have one car? What if he hates me? What if I don’t like him? What if he dies? What if he gets a girl pregnant at 15? What if he never gets anyone pregnant? WHAT BLOODY IF?
I assure you, It’s a blast.
I don’t know why but I think I’m more worried I’ll get it wrong with a boy. Which is so silly. I could screw it up either way because sometimes people do screw it up.
I have no doubt that every parent starts out with the very best intentions. Nobody starts raising a child with ‘Yep, I’m gonna purposefully ruin this one for everyone else!’ well, if you don’t count Miss Havisham in Great Expectations but that Bitch be kray kray!
It happens though because people inevitably make mistakes and parents are just people. People trying their best. Okay, maybe they’re people with a lot more calendars and shoe racks.
Whenever I get too hormone crazy, I remind myself that me and my husband are pretty good dudes. We both tend to try are best whatever is thrown at us. I guess that’s what I think a family should be, a bunch of people in the same house trying their best.
I have no idea what is going to happen to me, my husband and our son. I have no idea what is going to happen to our family. But you know what, I don’t think I would wanna know.
I totally don’t want to ruin that surprise.