“What? You’re not going to find out the baby’s sex? I couldn’t do it!”
That is the single most common response I get when people ask me what I’m having.
So let me clarify: It’s not that I don’t want to know. I don’t want others to know. At least not yet.
From the moment someone’s expecting, “It’s a Boy! It’s a Girl!” is the slogan du jour—on invites, balloons, cards, baby shower decorations, onesies, you name it.
The sexy topic of pregnancy is, well, sex (or gender to be more precise).
“I needed to find out for the nursery.” “My family just wouldn’t let me get away without not knowing.” “How else would I know what to register for?” “I couldn’t get as attached without knowing the sex.”
Really? Does gender—or rather our stereotypes of gender—make that much difference in how we prepare? And how does that truly stack up against giving a fresh soul the freedom to be the infinitely unique human that he or she has the potential to be?
Don’t other parents consider that their daughters won’t like pink and princesses? That their son won’t like blue and sports? Isn’t it possible that, at some point, boys and girls feel they must like what their community, and particularly their parents, have shown them we obviously value in a boy or a girl?
So, yes, I did not find out. And there was absolutely nothing difficult about making that decision. I only wish that the world wasn’t so keen on making decisions about our kids before they’re even in it.
I know I’m in the minority on this. Feel free to disagree in the comments. I may be rather vocally opinionated on the issue (frankly, a rarity for me), but this blog is not a dictatorship. It’s a conversation, and I welcome your thoughts.