I Cried When I Found Out I Was Giving Birth To A Girl – Last Week, I Remembered Why

“Finally, I landed on the picture taken between my baby’s legs to which someone had added a tiny yellow arrow and text in all caps that read: GIRL!”

Tears sprang to my eyes as the elevator doors closed behind us.

“Are you excited?!” my husband asked eagerly, hugging me toward him and finding my belly with his hands.

“Of course!” I squeaked, interlacing my fingers with his as we looked down at the tiny melon taking shape beneath my shirt.

As we walked out of the clinic and into the parking lot, the tears kept coming, now accompanied by an elevated heart rate and sweaty palms.

Of course I’m excited, I reassured myself. Why wouldn’t I be?

I climbed into the passenger seat, pulling out my phone to review the ultrasound pictures that had just been uploaded to the app.

I swiped past sonograph images of tiny fingers and toes, a nose, a belly, videos of the heartbeat and the baby hiccuping. Until finally, I landed on the picture taken between my baby’s legs, to which someone had added a tiny yellow arrow and text in all caps that read: GIRL!

My second thought: A girl. I cannot believe we’re having a girl. And I cannot believe my feelings about having a girl.

And finally: What are my feelings, exactly? Shock? Disappointment? Guilt?

A year and a half later, on a brisk fall morning, I’m sitting on a bench in Charleston, South Carolina, with my husband, eating a gluten-free biscuit. My mom is watching our one-year-old daughter back home so that we can take this trip. With another baby on the way unexpectedly, we need it. I’m 12 weeks pregnant.

I check my email for the umpteenth time – I’m waiting for the results of my NIPT test, which, along with a screening of chromosomal anomalies, will tell us baby No. 2’s sex.

“I really wish this didn’t matter so much,” I say to my husband, looking up from my phone.

“What do you mean?” he asks, biscuit crumbs escaping from his mouth.

“I wish that finding out the sex of our baby didn’t feel like such a big deal,” I clarify. “I mean, I know that boys and girls are equally beautiful, and gender is a social construct anyway. But still – it definitely matters to me, and I hate admitting that because it goes against everything I believe in.”

I hit refresh on my email inbox one more time before we start walking to our next destination. Lo and behold, the results have been posted.

My heart leaps into my throat as we load the results and scroll down and across the columns. Thankfully, baby seems “normal” and low-risk for the chromosomal anomalies that the test screened for.

Finally, my eyes land.

“Female,”........

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