My Unflappable Mum: An Appreciation of Mothers

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I loved feeling the little nudges that later turned to punches. But ultrasound pictures and feeling baby kicks from outside my tummy barely hinted at the miracle of humanity brewing in my belly. My contractions started out mild and far apart, and grew consistently closer together until it was time to head to the hospital. My body was on my team. An epidural provided pain relief , but still my body knew what to do. He was perfect. Working for me when I gave up. Creating perfection in snuggly little baby form.

I have a nervous stomach. Sometimes I have heavy periods. Yes, countless pregnancy announcements often include ultrasound pictures posted to social media.

And I have to admit that I thought sharing ultrasound pictures was silly. That is, until I had one I wanted to share. But it took me a looooooong time to get to that point. While pregnant with my first child, I felt that ultrasound pictures were nice to enjoy in the comfort of your own home Just you and your significant other, oohing and ahhhing at the majestic little creature brewing in your uterus. Maybe you even text a photo or two to your parents. But I felt that should be the extent of it. There is just something so intimate about an ultrasound picture, especially one in early pregnancy.

That baby is not yet recognizable as a baby, and most of the image is taken up by your actual uterus. Even later in pregnancy, baby features look warped in ultrasound pictures.

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Can you call when you have a chance and explain these pictures to me? Miniature baby sex organs, unidentifiable as they may be, are also frequently displayed all over social media in ultrasound pictures. At the time, it felt like my mom and I were alone in our opinion that ultrasound pictures were better kept private. Ultrasound pictures not only graced countless birth announcements, but many parents-to-be even framed ultrasound photos to hang in their nurseries. I attended a baby shower where, I kid you not, there were framed ultrasound photos on display. My vow was to never post an ultrasound picture on social media.

My husband, not bound by the same vow, did post one 3D ultrasound picture of our son on Facebook when we found out he was a boy, genitalia not included. Then, something incredible happened. She smiled. But still, she smiled and the ultrasound tech caught it on camera.

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  • Even in utero, she was more than a blurry black and white image. She was a baby with emotions. Or gas. But she was a baby. Our baby. I now have a new understanding of those parents who post ultrasound pictures to social media. Even those who frame the ultrasound pictures to display in the nursery.


    They are proudly sharing a glimpse of a person they would soon love beyond measure. Except, for me, those words were a complete and total lie.

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    Truthfully, I cared whether I had a boy or a girl. Admitting this feels un-politically correct for a number of reasons. Chief among them is the fact that so many people try for years to get pregnant and sometimes never succeed. I could end up with a boy who identified as a girl, or vice versa. And in my internet baby and pregnancy communities, hardly anyone dared to show a preference for a boy or girl baby.

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    I watched with morbid fascination, like observing a snake swallow a house whole, when the occasional woman dared to confess that she really hoped she was having a boy or girl. So I wanted a little girl to share that special bond with. The responses were even more volatile if someone with multiple children or who already had children of both sexes expressed a sex preference. You have one of each.

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    Why would you care whether your next baby is a boy or a girl? My truth was hard to admit even to myself, especially given the response such feelings were met with by many other mothers to be. I felt guilty having a preference, and ashamed of these feelings. I was elated to learn I was expecting a boy. I happily folded all of the adorable baseball and animal onesies I received at my showers. I was stoked.

    And I love being mom to a little boy. He liked to talk and read and play more than he liked to cuddle. My son was, and is, super fun, funny, thoughtful, and ridiculously smart. I got pregnant with my second and last child when my son was 3. And before I found out I was pregnant, my husband and I tried to have a girl. I used ovulation detector strips to try to time our sex for just before my ovulation. Admittedly, my desire to have a girl was entirely selfish. I wanted long hair to play with, and someone to dress in gaudy accessories.

    I wanted someone my experiences would resonate with. Even as a little boy, his life experience was already very different than mine. I wanted the chance at that kind of connection. In fact, the first few months of my pregnancy, I was absolutely convinced I was having another boy. I just felt like a boy mom. And maybe I was protecting myself from disappointment by not getting my hopes up for a girl.

    I watched with bated breath as the ultrasound technician moved the wand over my slippery belly. She was. I broke out in an ugly cry. I was getting my girl. Sure, she could be an athlete who likes to roughhouse and loves the color blue. Or she could love pink. She could be the president of the United States one day. But still, her sex mattered to me. From having girl friends, to eagerly awaiting my first period, to getting dressed up with makeup for nights out in high school, I loved being a girl and I wanted a girl to relive that journey with.

    A girl to bond with and swap confessions. As a 1 year old, my daughter loves to snuggle and gravitates to dolls instead of dinosaurs. But she loves to wrestle with her brother and can hold her own. And that really, really matters to me. Expecting my first baby, my head was in a cloud of all the possible names we could choose and the cute little onesies we had to look forward to.