If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked if my husband and I were going to try for a girl, I’d have enough to adopt a dozen daughters. And at one point, I thought that’s exactly what would have to happen; my husband and I struggled with infertility for five years before welcoming our oldest son, undergoing countless procedures and hormonal manipulations (not to mention crushing emotional stress) just for the chance to have any kids, of any gender. So for people to imply that I shouldn’t be satisfied with the ones I finally got, after years of emptiness and grief, it makes my blood boil.
The worst part is that people say these things in front of my sons, as though they can’t hear and comprehend the sentiment that I should want something different. This is one of the reasons there are no more babies in my future: Because heaven forbid it would be a girl, thus validating everyone’s opinion that we failed the first four times and stopped when we “got it right.” I need my boys to know that no matter what anyone else opines, they are enough. I am not missing anything, not yearning for anyone who isn’t here. They fill me with joy, their love and liveliness so abundant that my heart couldn’t possibly have any open spaces or missing pieces. They are all I need.
I have a wonderful, beautiful family, made up of four miracles I wasn’t sure I would ever get to raise. Why on earth should anyone feel sorry for that?
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This article originally appeared at Scary Mommy.
