It’s A Girl!
Some of you may remember a while back a little blog post I wrote (in relation to my first pregnancy) that posed a simple question: was I a bad feminist because I wanted a boy? Well, perhaps the universe was reading, or more likely, likes a good laugh, because baby number two is most definitely a girl.
Let me go on record and say that I’m psyched, and not in an overcompensation kind of way, or in a pc I need to be excited regardless kind of way. I’m am genuinely jazzed to have a daughter, and no, I don’t take back a word I said in that first post. And I am not at all ashamed to say that I am quite certain having Owen first made this whole second pregnancy and daughter thing the joyous occassion it should be and not the total panic attack it could have been.
To begin with, there’s the whole dicey terrain of how to have a parent-child relationship, in gendered terms, when it’s a relationship that is totally foreign. I touched on the absence of my mother a little here, and I’m sure I’ll start to touch on it more, but in my first pregnancy the idea of having a little girl paralyzed me because of that absence.
And then there’s the whole issue of me hating pink and princesses. And dolls. And makeup. And ponies. And my fear of having a little girl who LOVES all those things. Of course, there’s also all the sex. Of it being peddled to my little girl, to my little girl embracing it all and ohmygod there’s no way to avoid perpetuating repressive gender constructs no matter how hard I try!
Yes, you could say that getting to the place where having a daughter has elicited genuine enthusiasm and excitement required some “work” on my part.
And here’s where I have to thank Owen. The past five years has allowed me the opportunity to get comfortable in my mommy skin, to create that identity of “mother” that fit. I’ve still got a lot to hash out when it comes to mother-daughter relations, but at least I can say that I understand Jess as mother, good and bad, and I’m not so sure that would have been the case had Owen been born a girl.
Now I feel like I can do it. I can raise a daughter and not implode under the weight of my own mommy baggage. I can even do pink and princess and ponies godforbid if I have to. My guess is I wont, but it doesn’t matter. Hot damn I’ve got a daughter and I couldn’t be happier!
July 6th, 2010 | 
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As a feminist, the mother of two daughters, and grandmother to two girls, I can say, without reservation, they have been and continue to be the supreme joy of my life. Despite their “phases” with pink, Barbie, and make-up, both daughters turned out to be strong feminists. The firstborn is a stay-at-home mom, who is fierce about opportunities and rights for herself and two daughters; the other is an independent working woman, who hates romantic comedy “chick flicks” and seems to be doing fine without a man in her life (at least for now). I wish you joy of your daughter!
It’s a girl! Wow!
I have two girls, and they are just now starting to “get” me as a person. I’ve had good luck with my girls. They both liked to sleep as babies and it was uphill from there. Well, mostly uphill.
The most important thing might be this: Encourage your girl to like and respect herself.
So, I have 2 1/2 year old boy-girl twins. And nothing fucks with your ideas about gender, either as social construct or biological destiny, like boy-girl twins. My rule has been that I will buy nothing for them that they cannot both wear; they have very little pink in their wardrobe, but what there is of it, my son wears as often as my daughter (matter of fact, he has lately ruled that the pink sneakers are HIS and he LOVES them and get your grubby paws OFF of them, sister). I didn’t want the world to decide for them what they should value about themselves, so I’ve kept their haircuts similar, and they share all of their toys and possessions (except, as mentioned, the pink sneakers).
Still, he is obsessed, and I do mean obsessed, with trucks and cars. She totes her doll everywhere and talks to it and cuddles it. She nurtures and looks after her brother, and he . . . talks about cars. But she is the wild adventurer, with no fear of any physical peril, and he is the timid one who cries when a chicken makes a sudden move toward him. I’m letting them find their own way, with minimal interference, and so far I like the results.