If you meet your child without notions of who you think they should be, you will be rewarded with knowing and loving them for who they are, regardless of sex or gender, says Marni Hochman.
I never wanted a son. I always imagined having children, but only girls—two or three of them. Up until my mid-20’s, it did not occur to me to question or examine this. I was female and I wanted female progeny and that was that.
In graduate school, I took a Women’s Studies course during which we spent time analyzing gender stereotypes. This class was facilitated by my favorite professor, a political scientist who eventually became director of the Women’s Studies program. After taking some time off after having a baby, she returned on her first day back with the baby in tow. I wanted to be just like her: a strong, intelligent, kind, career-minded professor with a family.
During one class that semester, the conversation turned to children. What sex child did we want, if any, and why? So I was forced to scrutinize my reasoning. When the question came around to me, I answered honestly that I wanted girls because I wanted to be able to have shared experiences: buying that first prom dress, the wedding dress, having babies, being a girlfriend, a wife, a mother. I didn’t have sisters and I would like to feel that familiar closeness to someone.
Did I detect the slightest disappointment from my professor? Perhaps. I wasn’t sure. I knew she had two sons. We went on to deconstruct our gendered assumptions.
I remained steadfast however. When I married and then became pregnant with my first child, while giving people the “correct” answer—“Oh, I don’t care as long as the baby is healthy”—I secretly asked the universe for a girl. After 48 hours of labor followed by a c-section, my husband announced, “It’s a girl!” I asked him if he was sure; said, “I’m so happy”; and then exhausted and drugged, passed out.
My daughter was like nothing I had imagined. She cried for the first four and a half months of her life. I cried along with her. She hated to be hugged or held too tightly by person, blanket, or carseat. And as she grew into a toddler, we were witness to her temper and her wild, unpredictable behavior. Not at all the sweet, gentle, girl child I was expecting.
Bright and sharp as a Ginsu knife, she could slice through any farce or unfairness and always spoke her mind without hesitation. A little bulldog, she stood her ground and could not easily be moved with words or hands. But I loved her smarts and her spirit and was pleased when people would say, “You always know when Zoe is in the room.” And “She really has a mind of her own.” Never easy, often exhausting, and sometimes infuriating, I did love this feisty, fiery daughter of mine.
When, three and a half years after my daughter was born, I finally became pregnant with my second child, I once again asked the universe to bless me with another girl. I wanted a sister for Zoe, to give her that thing I never had. Zoe, on the other hand, was not at all interested in a sibling and asked if I could have kittens instead. When I insisted that I could not, she decided she would prefer a brother.
She got her wish. Her (big) little brother came barreling into this world at a full 10 pounds and in less than five hours. I was, in all honesty, a little disappointed. But unlike his sister, Thai seemed to crave physical attention and I quickly warmed to this cuddly little guy.
As my son grew, it was evident that he was, in fact, different from his sister in almost every way. Clearly outgoing and people-oriented, he would crawl into any open lap, willing or not. Although he had a quick temper, we realized his tantrums had more to do with his frustrations over not being able to communicate with us than any fierce anger his sister was capable of. A generally caring, considerate personality developed, bringing with it blankets for me when I was cold and treats for the cats, hugs with “I love you, Mama” every time I returned home. He enjoyed making us laugh with knock-knock jokes that made no sense at all, but would always elicit laughter, his own best of all.
In complete contrast to his sister, who could sit for hours investigating a pile of books, he was into everything and we had to do a lot more baby-proofing. Running and playing with his friends like a pack of puppies, he was in many ways a “real boy” and movement personified. But always “My Baby” he would come for a cuddle when no one was looking or sweetly play with his friend’s little brother or smile when an infant grabbed his finger.
Although Zoe was happy she had no sister, she also ignored her brother and when he was a baby proclaimed that she might like him when he was 3. She had no interest in any baby and if we put one in her arms, she looked about as uncomfortable as if we had made her sit on a bed of nails. Not only was she uninterested in babies, dolls terrified her and she would scream at us to “put it away!” She had no patience for her toddler brother either and when he came after her stuff, before I could get to her, she would haul back and hit him so hard, it would occasionally send him flying backwards.
As they grew, so did the magnitude of their fights. I was convinced that my children had been born in the wrong order. My son would have made a devoted big brother to his sister, and she probably would have adored her big brother, but so it was. And maybe, as I came to believe later on, they would learn the hard lessons from being siblings and would come out the other side, both caring adults who understand that different does not mean bad or less than or not worthy.
If I was to sit in that same Women’s Studies class today and was asked the same question “What sex child would you want?” I could truly answer that I wouldn’t care, as long as the baby was healthy. What I have been taught by my children is that although it is true that sometimes boys will be boys and girls will be girls, each child is truly their own unique self and if you meet them there without notions of who you think they should be, you will be rewarded with knowing and loving them for who they are, regardless of sex or gender.
I have met twin sisters who hate each other and brothers and sisters who speak to each other on the phone daily, daughters who haven’t talked to their mothers for years and grown sons who would do anything for their mothers. My yearning was for something imaginary. What I have is much better than anything I could have dreamed up. My clever, opinionated daughter and my kind, genial son keep things real. And I would love to be able to tell my professor what I have learned.
Marni Hochman is presently a stay-at-home mom, volunteer literacy tutor, and, in her spare time, a freelance writer. One of her essays will appear in the anthology In The Dressing Room, coming out fall 2014. Marni lives with her husband and two children in Michigan. Find her on Facebook and Twitter.
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