Snips, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails
I've been thinking a lot about this book I've been reading, and I'm intrigued. Here is the summary:
When author Andrea Buchanan, already a mom to a little girl, was pregnant with her second child, she marveled at the response of friends and total strangers alike: "Boys are wonderful," "Boys are so much better than girls," "Boys love their mothers differently than girls." This constant refrain led her to explore the issue herself, with help from her fellow writers and moms, many of whom had had the same experience.
I've read almost all of the essays in the book now, and I haven't come across one yet that addresses the opposite response from people, the response I got during both pregnancies, and still get every time the subject of my two sons comes up in a conversation with a new acquaintance. Rather than the antiquated (almost dynastic or feudal) societal expecations to "carry on the family name" or "provide a male heir" to which this book constantly refers, here's the apologetically toned response I received when I told people I was having a boy, especially the second time:
"Oh." Sad pause. "Is that what you wanted? Are you going to try for a girl next time? You need to have a girl, they're so much easier than boys, and you can do so much more with them."
Now that I'm not pregnant, when people learn that I have two young boys, the inevitable question is, "Are you going to have a third baby soon so you can try to have a girl this time?"
What does that mean? Did I somehow "get it wrong" the first two times? Would Bryce be more socially valuable if Quinn were a younger sister rather than a younger brother? Is Quinn less unique because he's the second son rather than the first daughter? Would it be okay for me to stop at two kids if I'd had one of each sex? I'm just wondering, because apparently I wasn't given the How To Please Society By Giving Birth To The Right Gender Each Time You Have A Baby manual, and I just wasn't aware of the highly nuanced rules regarding my reproductive activities.
Where are these women writers living, where people value baby boys so much more highly than girls? 18th century England? Or perhaps China? That would at least make sense. Certainly not in the midwest U.S., where moms who have boys are practically given sympathy parties, and are expected to go on having kids, until they get it right and have a girl, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! If this means some poor, conforming sap ends up with a classroom-sized family of 21 boys and 1 precious, prized girl, then so be it. So be it.
When author Andrea Buchanan, already a mom to a little girl, was pregnant with her second child, she marveled at the response of friends and total strangers alike: "Boys are wonderful," "Boys are so much better than girls," "Boys love their mothers differently than girls." This constant refrain led her to explore the issue herself, with help from her fellow writers and moms, many of whom had had the same experience.
I've read almost all of the essays in the book now, and I haven't come across one yet that addresses the opposite response from people, the response I got during both pregnancies, and still get every time the subject of my two sons comes up in a conversation with a new acquaintance. Rather than the antiquated (almost dynastic or feudal) societal expecations to "carry on the family name" or "provide a male heir" to which this book constantly refers, here's the apologetically toned response I received when I told people I was having a boy, especially the second time:
"Oh." Sad pause. "Is that what you wanted? Are you going to try for a girl next time? You need to have a girl, they're so much easier than boys, and you can do so much more with them."
Now that I'm not pregnant, when people learn that I have two young boys, the inevitable question is, "Are you going to have a third baby soon so you can try to have a girl this time?"
What does that mean? Did I somehow "get it wrong" the first two times? Would Bryce be more socially valuable if Quinn were a younger sister rather than a younger brother? Is Quinn less unique because he's the second son rather than the first daughter? Would it be okay for me to stop at two kids if I'd had one of each sex? I'm just wondering, because apparently I wasn't given the How To Please Society By Giving Birth To The Right Gender Each Time You Have A Baby manual, and I just wasn't aware of the highly nuanced rules regarding my reproductive activities.
Where are these women writers living, where people value baby boys so much more highly than girls? 18th century England? Or perhaps China? That would at least make sense. Certainly not in the midwest U.S., where moms who have boys are practically given sympathy parties, and are expected to go on having kids, until they get it right and have a girl, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! If this means some poor, conforming sap ends up with a classroom-sized family of 21 boys and 1 precious, prized girl, then so be it. So be it.
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