People thought I'd be horrified with two boys: but I want one more

"I was told repeatedly, 'Now you need to have a third so you can get a girl'. Ugh."

The day I found out my first baby was a boy, I spent the morning vomiting. 

As far as I can tell in retrospect, I was vomiting from nerves and nothing else. 

Although I could barely admit it, even in the privacy of my own mind, I really wanted a girl.

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I wanted to be a 'girl mum'

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly why, but there were a few fairly obvious reasons: I am an oldest child, and so is my mum, so a first-born girl is just what I’m used to. I love my relationship with my mum, and wished for the same with my own child.

My best friend’s first baby was a girl, and I love watching them interact. And I am, fundamentally, a girl’s girl. I love getting my nails done and shopping for clothes and decorating the house. I own a horse, for God’s sake. If anyone was meant to be a girl mum, I felt like it was me. 

Image: supplied

So when I discovered I was having a boy, it took me a moment to readjust. I was surprised, but not disappointed, mostly because I had always planned on having at least two children.

I would love this boy with all my heart, and when his sister came along, like I assumed she would, I would love her too. 

I fell pregnant with my second baby on the strength of how intensely I loved my baby boy. It was only as the moment when we would be able to find out our second baby’s sex approached that I began to feel trepidation.

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My first son was perfect

The thing was, my first son was… perfect. And while I was sure the new baby would be lovely and sweet and snuggly, I was fairly sure I already had the best possible boy, and he was sitting in my house doing a puzzle.

It made sense to me that a girl would be different from my son in ways I couldn’t yet imagine, but I honestly couldn’t conceive of a boy who was different from my son that I wouldn’t, somehow, love less. Deep down, I still thought I was destined to have a girl.

I vomited on the morning I found out my second baby was a boy, too, but I’d been vomiting daily at that point. I expected to be disappointed at the outcome, but I found to my own surprise that I wasn’t. My second baby being a boy made sense, in a way I couldn’t really put into words.

And when he was born, I realised just how different - but equally perfect - two little boys could be.

What I didn’t expect was the reaction from other people, who seemed determined to ignore me when I said I didn’t care that he was a boy. “Well, now you just need to have a third!”, I was told by everyone from my colleagues to postman to my neighbour.

“Two boys and one girl would be so lovely!”

Image: supplied

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"Hoping for a girl this time?"

At that point, I was still undecided, but watching my second baby grow older, I’m sold: in a couple of years, I will try for another baby. I’m almost reluctant to tell people, because they all say the same thing with a knowing look: “Hoping for a girl this time, right?”

I’m not hoping for a girl this time - and if I was, I don’t think it would be fair to fall pregnant again, knowing there was a 50% chance that I wouldn’t get what I “wanted”. 

Now that I know my sons, so much of what I thought I’d miss out on if I didn’t have a girl has fallen away. When I imagined my hypothetical daughter, more than anything else, I thought she would grow up to be my best friend.

But I already have a best friend - a number of them, actually. My life is full of the most remarkable women, none of whom I have birthed, but all of whom I consider my family. I have friends and sisters-in-law and friends so close they are practically sisters, real nieces and honorary nieces, real aunties and honorary aunties. If I need a gossip session or a long lunch or someone who wants to shop and get their nails done with me, I am lucky enough that I will never be left wanting. 

But more than that, the specific qualities I had attributed to a hypothetical girl - being kind and gentle, loving animals, wanting to be close to me - are qualities I see in both my boys every day. I couldn’t imagine two sweeter kids, and I don’t think their gender has anything to do with it. 

Knowing what I now know, I appreciate that a third boy would be different again from my first two babies. I can’t wait to see what that might look like. He might be braver, or more cautious, or more active, or more reserved. He might be obsessed with monster trucks or giraffes or ballerinas. He might be an observer or an explorer. I don’t know what he’ll be like, but I know he’ll be perfect, again, to me. 

And if I never have a daughter, I won’t be disappointed at all, because I will have the most remarkable sons.

Originally published as People thought I'd be horrified with two boys: but I want one more