As a child, I envisioned my future surrounded by daughters. Sons? I never even considered them. My dreams were filled with tea parties and dress-up, leaving no room for the rough-and-tumble antics of boys. When I became pregnant for the first time, my husband and I were so certain we were having a girl that we even wrapped a gift labeled “To Lily, from Mom and Dad” for Christmas, right before the big ultrasound.
You can guess my shock when “Lily” turned out to be a Lucas. As the ultrasound technician pointed out the anatomy on the screen, my first thought was, “Wait, my daughter has a what?” Over the years, Lucas was joined by a Liam, a Leo, and a Logan. Four boys. Not a single daughter in sight.
You might assume that my childhood dreams of frilly dresses and princess stories were dashed against a wall of mud, bugs, and endless wrestling matches. Many people seem to think that because I don’t have daughters, I must feel incomplete, like there’s a void in my life that only a little girl could fill. To those folks, let me be clear: YOU’RE COMPLETELY WRONG.
Please, stop the pity party. I don’t need your sympathy. The unsolicited condolences were especially overwhelming during my fourth pregnancy. When people asked, “What are you having?” and I replied “another boy,” I could see their faces fall, as if I had just shared tragic news. It was as though I had told them my pet had passed away.
Their reactions were often accompanied by a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and the oh-so-familiar line: “Well, maybe next time you’ll have your girl. Are you going to try for another?” No, we’re not “trying again.” The idea that we somehow got it wrong with our first four boys is not only insulting but also completely misguided. I don’t want my sons to think they are less than perfect because they don’t fit someone else’s expectations.
People express their pity right in front of my boys, as if to say they are just a consolation prize. How do you think that makes them feel? They can sense when others are disappointed by their very existence. It’s as if they hear the unspoken sentiment that they’re somehow inadequate because they are boys.
I see myself in my sons every day—in their humor, their quirks, and in their looks (especially Liam, who is basically my mini-me). I do complain about the chaos they bring, like their inability to aim properly in the bathroom. But when I vent about that, it’s just the everyday frustrations of motherhood, not a lamentation for the lack of daughters.
So please, don’t feel sorry for me or anyone else with a house full of boys (or girls!). We’re not walking around with a gaping hole in our hearts. Like any mom, I’m immensely proud of my children. I wouldn’t trade them for anything, even if it means missing out on nail painting and “girl talk.” I don’t miss what I’ve never had.
Sure, I may have a house filled with rambunctious boys and a toilet that requires serious cleaning. But let me assure you, I wouldn’t change a thing. I love my life, and I love my boys. What I really wish for is understanding from others.
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Summary
In this heartfelt piece, the author shares her experience as a proud mother of four boys, challenging the societal expectations that suggest she is missing out on something essential by not having daughters. She emphasizes that her life is full and rewarding, despite the common misconceptions and unsolicited pity she receives from others. Ultimately, she advocates for understanding and acceptance, debunking the idea that a family of boys is any less complete or fulfilling.
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