In the wake of Kobe Bryant and his daughter’s death, “girl dads” are a hot topic since Bryant had four daughters. This is a constant in my world because Rob and I have two anatomically female children and often hear comments about having a baby boy. 

In fact, last weekend, I lost my temper and yelled at a guy who attempted to tell me what sex positions could produce a male child. The conversation started because Rob and I admitted we may try to have a third child at some point. Upon hearing that we have two daughters, this childless man proceeded to tell me why we should try for a boy and how to produce one. He attempted to lecture me on the particular sex positions we needed to use in order to produce this golden boy baby. I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve endured this, but it’s not. On countless occasions, men have told me:

• I need to give my husband a boy (as in, it’s my duty)
• We should keep trying until we get a boy
• It’s a shame both kids are girls
• Certain sex positions and foods will produce a boy

Typically, I am polite enough to brush it off. But not anymore. I’m fed up. I’m tired of the notion that male babies are somehow more desirable than female babies. And if one more person tells me it’s my duty to produce one, I’m going to lose it. I’m not apologizing anymore for setting a stupid person straight. And I’m tired, so tired of not sticking up for myself. (Note: I cannot fathom what my friends with trans kids deal with. Godspeed, people, godspeed. You are the true heroes who deal with major ignorance when it comes to gender.)

My husband has never cared that he’s a “girl dad.” He handles the baby boy stuff much better than I do, and he has never said anything to me or pressured me in any way about having a male child. He’s far more polite when people make those comments. He’s also got stronger willpower and more patience than me. But I do not apologize for being me, nor do I apologize for my anger in relation to this. I refuse to accept that my anatomically female children are less than a male, and I’m willing to fight over it. 

Our gender expectations are messed up and stereotypical. If I described my children, I assume many would attach the wrong gender based on cultural assumptions of what is more male and what is more female.

• 2.5 year old who loves dinosaurs, animals, and all physical activity
• 1 year old who loves baby dolls, talking, and snuggling

Many might think that the 2.5 year old described above is a boy. But they’d be wrong. Little kids don’t know or care about gender. And not all anatomically male kids are more physically active. Not all anatomically female kids are calmer and more verbal. Each child is unique, and kids LEARN gender—they aren’t born with gender notions. We have different expectations for different genders, and children perceive and learn those expectations, acting accordingly. If we expect “boys to be boys,” then they will be. If we encourage girls to be demure and sweet, then they may be. Of course, some children by nature may exhibit certain tendencies and behaviors, but they also adopt and absorb what is around them. Can’t we just celebrate kids for who they are, not what we want them to be? Trans kids, queer kids, out-of-the-norm kids are all wonderful little humans, just like mine.  

I must confess, though, that I wanted a baby boy very badly, or at least I thought I did. But as I have learned, so many of my preconceived notions of children and parenting have been far, far off base. I cannot imagine my two children being different in any way, and I would not want to change them. (And frankly, just because they were born girls does not mean they will choose and accept being female. Lots of humans don’t identify with their anatomical sex.)  My pre-baby self had no idea what she was thinking, and I laugh now when I think about everything I thought I knew I wanted back then. I am constantly learning and growing as a mother, and I have no shame admitting that I was at fault in this department too. 

When I think about why I wanted a boy, the reasons are fuzzy and I don’t think they were ever fully baked. I know one reason was because I am obsessed with a particular boy name (don’t ask—I won’t tell). Another reason was likely sports-related. I understand women can play and excel at sports (hell, I still play), but we live in a male-dominated sports world, unfortunately. I suppose I thought it would be easier to raise a boy (that may not be true, anyway), and I didn’t want a child to endure some of the female drama that I did. I dislike the pink, sparkly, princess world that our culture rams down little girls’ throats.

What I have realized is that it isn’t the female sex that I was rejecting; it was the female stereotypes and expectations that I loathed. I didn’t want a boy baby more than a baby girl. I wanted to avoid the female bullshit. I wanted to experience the world through the male lens; I wanted something different than what I lived. But I recognize I was clueless and childless and had no idea how I’d feel once I held that baby and watched it grow. I can tell you with utmost certainty that gender doesn’t matter when it comes to loving children. 

Imagine a child discovering shadows and giggling with delight upon seeing and making them for the first time. Imagine a clumsy toddler climbing the steps and clapping with joy. A child crying over a boo-boo or asking for a huggies and kissies before bed. A child stomping in puddles and chasing ducks and wiping out in the mud. A child reading books and learning to talk. When you imagine these children, does it matter if they look like girls or boys? Of course not. 

I can tell you right now that my children march through this world brazen and courageous and confident. They are forces of nature. Sometimes, I cannot believe that we produced such amazing creatures. I tell my husband all the time, “Look. Look at them. My god, they thrill me.” And I cannot wait to see what they can and will do. I tell them they are strong and smart. I tell them daily I am proud of them. I want them to grow up knowing their worth is not defined by typical female standards (or any gender standards).

If I can help it, I want them to be different than me and my generation. I hope they can define their lives by more important notions than how they look in a bathing suit and whether or not boys like them. I hope they’re like one of my close friends who isn’t afraid to be different, trying out badass hairstyles and forgoing make-up. And if they want to be traditionally girly, fine. But I hope it’s because it’s truly their want and not a societal expectation. (As mentioned in a previous post, I fear this gender bullshit is going to get even worse with the rise of Instagram and Snapchat media. Perfection, particularly female perfection, is expected and the norm. But that rant is for another day.)

If we have a third baby (if we are fortunate enough to be able to have a third baby), it won’t be because we are trying for a boy. Instead, it’ll be because we want another child, another little human, no matter what sex. I love my little gremlins and will accept them no matter who or what they become. 

And if I have all girls, I expect them to be like Gigi, Bryant’s daughter, who, upon hearing someone tell her dad that he needed to have a boy to carry on his basketball legacy, leaned over and whispered, “I got this, daddy. You don’t need a boy for that.”