january 4th, 2005

January 4th is not a birthday, or a wedding anniversary, or even the day that Mark and I started dating. It isn't a date that would mean anything to anyone else. A year ago today, I found out I'd never have a daughter.

I was so excited that morning... part nervousness, part elation at getting to see the little person who'd taken up residence in my belly. We got to Chapel Hill bright and early, and it seemed like we were never going to be called into the ultrasound room.

We finally were, of course, and we spent the first 30 minutes in complete awe of this little person. I was about 19 weeks pregnant, and hadn't felt much movement yet, so I was surprised to see a variety of acrobatics going on inside my womb. The baby was perfect... the dates were right on and it was clearly visible that there were 10 fingers and 10 toes. I couldn't stop smiling... our little surprise was healthy.

The ultrasound wand stopped, and she froze the picture on the screen. "I can tell what it is," she said. "Can you see what it is?"

"Is it a boy?" I asked. I saw absolutely nothing on the screen that would tell me one way or another, but after two boys, I thought I'd take the safe guess.

And before her lips even parted to reply, I knew. No pink and green nursery. No cardigans and tights with ruffles on the butt. No bobbed hair, pulled to the side with the perfect bow. No Barbies or baby dolls or Easy Bake Oven or tea sets. No pink bike with a basket on the front and streamers on the handles. No first box of Tampax or prom dress shopping. No watching as her dad walked her down the aisle. No anxiously waiting while my daughter gave birth to her first baby.

"Yep, it's a boy!" she said cheerfully. A little bit of me hated her.

I bit my lip, and my eyes burned. I couldn't look at the screen. I could no longer hear a word of what she was saying about my healthy, perfect baby. She might as well have been speaking Chinese. I leaned over and punched Mark's arm. Hard.

I was sad and I was devastated. It was so unfair. So unbelieveably unfair. She stopped the ultrasound and went to get the doctor to take one last glance and give us the all-clear. As soon as she stepped out of the room, I burst into tears. Mark looked at me like I was from another planet. He saw a healthy baby. I saw the baby that should have been a girl. My only daughter that I would never have.

I tried to pull it together, but I know she saw my tear-stained face when she walked back into the room. I'm not a pretty girl when I cry; my nose swells up and my entire face turns red. I feigned a smile as both the ultrasound tech and the doctor excitedly congratulated us. We went up to the front desk to check out, and I turned away and pretended to look at some stupid poster of hospital personnel while Mark paid. And I put on my sunglasses right there in the hospital. I sobbed as we walked out. The walk was long, and more than one person was staring at the blubbering pregnant woman. We got into the car and I called my mom, sobbing. I cried so much I made my mom cry. This would be her fourth grandson, so she was a little sad, too. Not only was I missing out on having a daughter, my mom wouldn't have a granddaughter, either.

I was in disbelief. Out of everyone in this world to not get a girl, how could it be me? I hate dirt and bugs and, with the exception of Carolina basketball, sports. I like shopping and clothes and gossiping. I HAD two perfect boys. I didn't need another boy, damn it all! I needed - desperately needed - a little girl.

By mid-afternoon, the calls started to pour in. Friends who hadn't heard from me knew that I was probably having a boy. I encountered a mixed bag of reactions. People who felt sorry for me for having yet another boy, almost like this one didn't matter. People who, though they didn't come right out and say it, thought I was ungrateful for the perfect baby I was carrying. And a special few who let me be sad and didn't judge me for it.

The unsupportive opinions of those who had the proverbial "one of each!!" didn't matter. Screw them.

It took me several days to start digging my way out of self-pity and grief. The first few days I cried every time I thought about it. I had spent my entire life just assuming I'd have a daughter. I grieved for that. I was mad... why could EVERYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET have a husband who produced girl babies, and I happened to pick the one who didn't? I'm not saying it was rational, but it is how I felt at the time. I felt so very, very cheated.

A year has gone by, and I have a sweet little boy. (This is the part where I start to cry while typing, partly from guilt, partly from the irony of it.) He has huge brown eyes and a little buddha belly and incredibly delicious rolls on his thighs. He giggles at his brothers and is the snuggliest of all of my babies. It never fails that he has a smile on his face when he wakes up each morning. He is truly a joy. Never for a minute can I imagine him as a girl. I smile when I'm able to say "the boys" and see him wear clothes that belonged to his big brothers when they were still tiny and un-naughty. He is, in my eyes, perfection.

It doesn't mean I don't sometimes pause at the smocked dresses and wonder what might have been, that I don't still fantasize about having a daughter, but I'm okay. I always knew I would be... I just took the long road to get here.