Gender Bender

A common question pregnant woman often hear is “Do you know what you’re having?” However, the following comments vary as the mother reveals the gender of her unborn baby. If it’s the first baby there is usually no further probing. If it’s a subsequent baby, then the mother’s answer can ignite some rather curious comments from the onlooker.

I have never cared what sex my babies are, I was simply happy with healthy. Probably why I found it so odd when pregnant with our second daughter, the reactions some people had to the news that yes, we were having a second daughter. The most alarming was from a friend’s father who with his head shaking said, “Oh, what a shame.” I tell you I had to stop myself from walking up to him with our beautiful second daughter in my arms later that year and asking him if he still felt she was a shame! Perhaps though even more disturbing was the unsolicited sex advice from observers concerned about our girl centred family; “Next time, to get a son, ice your husband’s balls then have sex whilst balancing an apple on your head. After, skip around your bed three times and drink a litre of milk…Worked for me!”  (Yeah, okay, I’ll mention it to my husband, I’m sure he’d love to stick his balls in a bucket of ice, thanks?)

I’ve never really understood the fascination our society has with wanting couples to create a ‘gender balanced’ family. I love having two girls. They are great friends, share a room, have similar interests and are simply put; amazing. However, when pregnant with our third baby I certainly felt the pressure for it to be a boy. It was as if people felt they could change the baby’s gender by willing it to be a boy when its sex was already determined at the moment of conception, which is pretty amazing in itself.

With our third baby we chose not to find out the sex, for the most part to avoid unnecessary comments about gender. I’ll admit it was fun having people guess the gender. Every scan I only asked “Is the baby healthy?” as that’s all that mattered to us. But as C-Day approached (yes, I’m a Caesar mother), I found myself worrying about how I would feel if the baby was another girl, would I love her as much? Or what if the baby was a boy, would I know how to care for him? Then I felt guilty, because what did it really matter? We were having another baby! That’s all that mattered.

When our son was pulled from my body and held up in all his glory I was too nervous to look. My husband cried, “It’s a boy! (pause) What do we call him?”. Shock sunk in, we have a son? We already have two daughters, we have experience with growing girls, what do we do with a son, and what do we name him?

After about a week I recovered from the shock, and am absolutely in love with our beautiful boy. But from my experience I realise we would have been happy either way. Three girls would have been so wonderful, and our family mix is just as lovely. And you know what, I still get these funny comments. The most popular one thus far is “Two girls, then a boy! Well aren’t you clever!” (Yep, pretty sure it was my husband’s sperm that decided baby’s gender but I’ll take the applause). Another common response I receive is “Oh, thank goodness its a boy, you must be so relieved your family is now complete”. Let’s just clarify; a boy doesn’t complete a family, just like a daughter born to a family with only sons doesn’t complete their family. At least that’s what I tell my husband as I weaken his resistance to a fourth child.

So you can go about icing your husband’s balls, or eating only acidic foods in order to try to achieve your ‘gender balanced’ family. But a baby is a blessing, regardless of gender, and that should be the only thing that matters.

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The Handover

A few weeks ago Miss 3 stopped me in my tracks. I asked her a question and she replied “Okay”. I was gob-smacked. I had heard “No” as a response to almost everything for a year. She even answered “No” to the question “Would you like some chocolate?” (I sometime like to see if she really is listening). I have heard “no” in all its forms. The short sharp, “No!”, the long yelling “Nooooooo”, the repeated “No, no, no noooo!” and the cheeky “No-wa!”

Trying not to reveal my surprise I praised my daughter for her response and we went about our day. Then something else happened. As my Miss 3 (who is nearly my Miss 4) began to be more compliant and willing to help and cooperate with us, my Miss 1 celebrated her second birthday. It was like a light switched had been flicked on, and as she woke, my now Miss 2, still as cute as can be, she announced “No!”.

“Let’s brush your teeth” “No!”

“Do you want custard or yoghurt?” “No”

“Come play outside” “No”

“Do you know any other words?” “No!”

I’m lucky enough to have a friend who has two daughters with the same age gap as ours, only slightly older, who holds much wisdom on raising girls. I vented to her expressing my disbelief that my sweet Miss 2 had now become my defiant child, yet also my disbelief that my sweet first born daughter had returned as her stubborn counterpart has apparently now left. Why can’t I just have both my sweet girls at once? I understand they are learning to be assertive through using the word “No” but do they have to assert themselves all…the…time…!

Her response was accurate to say the least, “The handover. Enjoy!”. So now our Miss 2 is in the sullen “No” phase and whilst our Miss 3 occasionally relapses and shows us she is still very much capable of screaming the house down, she is for the most part our sweet smiling girl once more. But it makes me wonder, has our Miss 3 been training our Miss 2 all this time, “Do what I do, only louder, for longer, and more!”. Are her relapses also part of this training?

Before I feel saddened that we have lost our sweet Miss 2 to the “No” phase, I remind myself of one thing; it doesn’t last. Only approximately 9 months to a year of this and we are back on track. And besides, her tantrums are a little bit funny, with her pouty lip and her lying on the floor, bum up. If I yell, cry or laugh, I get the same response, “No, no, no, no!”, so I choose to smile, its only a phase….and there’s chocolate in the cupboard.

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I breastfeed because…I’m lazy?

My mother’s face looked anguished as she held my infant daughter to my breast so she could feed. I was unable to move, attached to a stiff hospital bed, tubes running around my body as the painful pinch of IV drips pulling at needles lodged in both my hands and arms held me in place.

“Can’t she just bottle feed the baby?”, my mother approached a nurse tending to my weeping puncture points as another needle bled out through weakened tissue.

“No mum,” I carefully placed my hand on her arm, “I want to keep breastfeeding, it’s the only thing I have any control over”.

This certainly wasn’t how I pictured it, the start of my mothering and breastfeeding journey. I had suffered a serious complication three weeks post birth and was readmitted to hospital with my tiny daughter. My husband helped me maintain breastfeeding whilst I recovered, even massaging lumps out of my breast as she fed (now that certainly wasn’t in our wedding vows). And now here I am, 26.5 months of breastfeeding experience under my belt, three babies who have each fed very differently, one baby who is still breastfeeding, and a household who knows not what a bottle is.

I do get asked often from misunderstood observers, “Why don’t you use a bottle?”. Perhaps they think it will give me some kind of break? Maybe it will allow my husband to be ‘more involved’ in the feeding process? Maybe they feel uncomfortable when I get my breasts out to feed my hungry baby? Or they perhaps assume they are helping me? But don’t they realise, I breastfeed because I’m lazy.

That’s right, breastfeeding is the perfect excuse to escape household chores. “Sorry honey, I can’t wash the dishes, baby is feeding…again”. It’s great for excusing yourself at an event when you are not interested in talking to anyone there, “Oh, where’s the feeding room? I’ll just be out here, feeding my baby and enjoying the view” (and the relative silence as I relax to the sound of my baby gulping away happily). Let’s not forget the extra time I have achieved watching television or lying in bed as I feed my baby, “No, he’s not asleep at the breast, he’s still feeding”. And I’ve never seen the logic in getting up in the middle of the night to warm a bottle when I am able and willing to breastfeed, meaning I don’t even need to leave the bed, let alone open my eyes.

I’m lucky, in the sense that my husband has always been supportive of my breastfeeding 100%. I don’t really need an excuse not to do the dishes as my job as a Mummy, and my desire to breastfeed is recognised and valued. My husband is one of the smart ones, who understands breastfeeding takes time and energy, so he picks up any slack. Our role as parents is shared, and he doesn’t miss out through my breastfeeding. No, it simply means he gets more nappy changes!

I support a woman’s decision to feed her baby as she chooses, with bottle or breast. Either way she is going to need the support of her family behind her. Every one in our household knows the value of our feeding journey that we begin as infants. My Miss 2 is quick to point out when baby needs to be “Eating Boo Boos Mummy” and my Miss 3 has even offered to feed him for me insisting she has her own milk supply. They don’t know how to feed a baby any other way, and this means they have learnt not to hide infant feeding, but rather rejoice in it, as it truly is a beautiful thing.

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Who Ruined Mummy’s Body?

Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

Was it the first, how did she get in? A surprise to all, who left spots on my skin?

No it wasn’t the first, how did she get in? Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

Was it the second, who was worth the wait. Who pulled at the nipple and bit when she ate?

No it wasn’t the second, who was worth the wait. Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

Was it the third, who knew how to sit. Because being frank breech, the kicks didn’t hurt a bit!

No it wasn’t the third, who knew where to sit. Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

Is it the fourth, who hasn’t yet been conceived? Daddy’s not convinced, he would have you believe.

No it isn’t the fourth, who hasn’t yet been conceived. Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

Is it the fifth, the last to get in, the accident we  might have, will Daddy’s little guys still know how to swim?

No it isn’t the fifth, the last to get in. Do you know who ruined Mummy’s body?

You do know who ruined Mummy’s body.

It wasn’t the first, she taught us true love, a surprise, a blessing from above.

It wasn’t the second, she taught us to trust, God creates all, but His plan is not rushed.

It wasn’t the third, he is a miracle too, he’s amazing, our first go at parenting blue.

It isn’t the fourth, whom I dream will come true, I’ll have Daddy convinced, he longs for him too.

It isn’t the fifth, imagine that, I’d be so stretched then, perpetually fat!

My children have taught me the value of time, it’s limited and I’m so happy they are mine.

The stretch marks, the extra curves, the spots and the scar, they are markers from life showing we’ve come this far.

Nothing is ruined, Mummy’s body is better than before, and our house is now filled, with beautiful children we adore.

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