By Kris Ann Valdez 
We had one of each—the boy, the girl. Maybe I shouldn’t have cared which way the third went, but I did . . . I wanted a girl. I love having a little sister. We might be six years apart, but the age gap between us doesn’t matter. She is one of my closest friends—I trust her with my life, my secrets, my hopes. This bond is so precious that I yearned for my daughter to experience it too.
Admittedly, there were more selfish reasons I preferred a girl. I subscribe to the theory that daughters are more faithful to their mothers in the grown-up years than sons. When daughters marry and have kids, they tend to favor their mother’s table for holidays or her way of nurturing the grandkids. I know there are exceptions to this rule, but I’d seen it enough times to feel girls would care for their mothers on a deeper level.
Plus, who doesn’t want to dress a girl? I had wonderful hand-me-downs from my daughter. I found myself envisioning another little girl in the floral bloomers and Peter Pan collars I’d saved. So the morning I opened my email and found the email announcement from my doctor’s office, I shook with anticipation.
When I saw the little blue face staring back at me, I felt disappointment drop in my belly and stay there. No sister for my daughter. No reason to keep her beautiful hand-me-downs any longer. No promise of another daughter to cling to me in her adulthood. To choose my table or prefer me to babysit.
A boy. My fingers flexed around the phone. What would I do with another boy? I exited out of the email and put on a brave face. I smiled and told my husband, blinking back tears. The disappointment sloshing around inside me.
Sometimes, I wish we hadn’t found out the gender of our last child and left it a surprise. If I could go back and do it again, I would have cheered and hurrahed to know it was you I’d be meeting soon, my little son. Because the moment you were born, of course, I wouldn’t have traded you for any little girl on the planet.
Curled in my arms for the first time, I whispered in your tiny ear, “You were the best idea ever.” And it’s true. I would’ve missed out on you and your mop of curls, dimpled cheeks, and hazel eyes. You who could dribble a ball before you could walk.
I’d miss out on your squeeziest hugs. And the bond you have with your big brother—what an honor to catch glimpses of how sweet your brotherhood will be all your lives. You’re barely one but already so different from him. And those differences make raising another boy feel fresh and exciting again.
See, I’m so glad I didn’t get what I wanted . . . because you are you—a boy who completes our family in the way only your unique self could. That’s the mystery of life, isn’t it? Sometimes what we want isn’t what we need. Because I know now that I really needed you, my little boy.
by Hannah Carpenter 
