"What's the name?" "Abigail Madeline...Abby," we responded to the doctor. "Yeah, I don't think he's going to like that," Dr. Coe replied.

The room exploded in surprised and excited noise, though I still thought that they were joking. I thought of all of the pink clothes hanging up in the closet at home; it had to be a joke. Then Mike looked down and said, "Oh my gosh! It IS a boy!!" I will never, EVER forget that moment.

Mike claims to this day, that after his initial shock wore off, his first thought was, "Well, at least we don't have to pay for a wedding." Three-and-a-half years later, I guess I'm still working on overcoming the shock.

I prepared for the birth of our daughter for months and grew emotionally attached to this little Abigail in my womb. We received an entire wardrobe of adorable girls' clothes (size 0-3T) from friends who were done having kids. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I excitedly opened the boxes, carefully looking at each little frilly pink dress, the trendy flared and bedazzled Baby Gap jeans and the size 6 months bikini (who puts a baby in that?! OK, I figured I probably would just for the sheer ridiculousness of it). Included in the piles of baby girl clothes were the dresses that my mom had saved for me. Dresses that I'd worn as an infant -- pink bow glued on my head, shiny black Mary Janes on my feet that couldn't yet walk. Dresses that someday I'd put my daughter in.

Two days after Matthew was born, I came home from the hospital. I was postpartumly exhausted, a Baby Blues blubbering emotional wreck especially heartbroken that our firstborn was in the NICU -- full of tubes and hooked up to all sorts of machinery. Who knew when we'd get to bring him home. The first thing I did, like a mad woman, was to start pulling girly clothes off of tiny hangers. (I had, of course, already cut tags, washed clothes and hung them by appropriate size-grouping). I shoved and dumped clothes into boxes not caring anymore about size or organization or even neatly folding. I just wanted them gone and away. I honestly don't think that at that point I was sad -- despite how it may sound now. I merely wanted to purge any sign of the baby that we had expected, so that when we brought Matthew home, he was the one we'd be ready for. I definitely knew that I would never dress him in any pink and rarely was the boy in a gender-neutral yellow or pastel green. There would be no mistaking this baby for the boy that he was.

I was just telling Louise at therapy the other day that I've been organizing my maternity clothes for one of my dear book club friends to borrow. (Love ya)! I had the realization that I have no problem loaning those out, but a thought came to me: if I were to find out that Molly was having a girl, could I loan her the entire wardrobe of beautiful girls' clothes?! Sadly, the answer is no. I wish I could, but I know that seeing someone else's daughter dressed in the clothes that I'd planned to dress my daughter in would be too difficult for me. Upon learning that our Abigail was actually Matthew, a coworker who was also pregnant told our friend (who reported back to me), "Oh good! I hope that I have a girl, so that I can have all those clothes that Jenny got!" Needless-to-say, a couple of months later when Olivia was born, she did not receive boxes of clothes from me.

So, it goes without saying, that I'm apparently still dealing with all of this "stuff." That's the interesting thing about therapy, it opens up wounds that you'd thought had totally healed but were apparently just scabbed over. (Gross metaphor, sorry). Here are the questions I'm struggling with: Do I feel like my family is not complete until I have a daughter? And why, is that? Do I want a daughter so badly because I was expecting one and mentally preparing for one or is it for some deeper reason? Deep indeed, and I don't have answers. At least not yet.

I am so unbelievably grateful for the children that we do have, and I don't for a second want my boys to think that I would change anything about them. They are such beautiful, creative, intriguing little people. It is an absolute truth that you will never know how much your parents love you until you have children of your own. (As I type this, I just paused for a cuddle break with my snot-dispensing angel baby, Zachary).

To end on a lighter note...There is a VERY long list of reasons that having boys is wonderful. One of my personal favorites, is the fact that having sons pretty much guarantees the fact that I will never have to kill another spider. I have a feeling that Zach will be the bug-killer of our two boys. Today, Matthew was playing in his sandbox while I did some yard work. Suddenly, he let out a terrified, absolutely blood-curdling scream. I don't know if I've ever run so fast.
It was a worm...I little sand-covered, wiggly worm.

Not that I can't relate. I clearly remember standing outside our house, at the age of four, screaming and crying for Mom or Dad to come and get me. There was a slug on one of the steps leading up to the front door absolutely blocking ALL entry into the house. There was no way I was going to walk by that slimy, creepy thing. I still haven't covered this incident in therapy. It's on the list. But it's a LONG list.