Is Gender Disappointment Ever OK?

When I found out I was expecting my third baby, I already had two sons. At the time they were aged six and three.

I had actively tried for the third baby. And when I say tried; I mean tried for a girl.

I had read several gazillion online articles, parent forums and scientific journals. I had researched every tip and trick under the sun and learned about the ‘methods’ which had gifted other lucky mums their ‘darling daughter’.

I had fallen pregnant with my sons immediately. I knew how lucky that made me. This baby took a bit longer, maybe three or four cycles, which in the grand scheme of things is still no time or hardship at all. Perhaps it was taking longer because the universe was trying to give me a girl, I thought to myself.

The next part of this story is hard for me to tell, because it is absolutely drenched in guilt for me.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant I had this deep sense of dread. Although I wasn’t going to find out via a scan, I knew in my bones I was having another boy. As much as I adored my two boys, I just couldn’t bring myself to be happy at the thought of another one. I couldn’t allow myself to even think that my gut might be wrong, that maybe I was carrying a girl. It’s the hope that kills you; as the saying goes.

Looking back now, the guilt that I felt that way about my precious boy (spoiler: I had another boy) hurts my heart. How could I have ever wanted anything but him? But at the time my guilt was much more focussed on just how ungrateful and awful I must be as a person.

All those fantastic women who are unable to have children. Women who would make incredible mothers; mothers who gave not one solitary sh*t what gender their baby was. And here I was, with two gorgeous healthy children, expecting another one, and I couldn’t be joyful abut it on the off-chance it was born with testicles!? I’d never had to endure IVF, never had to pee on a stick month after month and feel the devastation of not being pregnant yet again, I’d never had to deal with the concern of well-intentioned but nosey strangers asking “Do you not want a baby yet?”

I had won the lottery of fertility and motherhood. And here I was feeling utterly depressed about my lot. I felt so ashamed of the way I felt and told not a soul.

I remember when I was about 8 months pregnant, speaking to my lovely grandmother; mother of my Uncle, my dad… and my Auntie. I told her “I hope I can be just like you Nana, two boys and then finally getting the girl.”

Her response was so beautiful it took my breath away.

“You don’t need a daughter Sarah. You just need a son as wonderful as your Dad.”

I’ll never forget those words, and they rung in my ears every day as I watched him care for her through dementia and her eventual passing away during the pandemic.

She was entirely correct.

I didn’t need a daughter. I needed Ellis. My absolute ray of sunshine. The kid who wakes up every day with a smile on his face, approaches everything in life with excitement and optimism, and never ever runs out of hugs, kisses or ‘I love you’s.

Looking at him now it occasionally blows my mind that I ever longed for anything different to him. But it turns out gender disappointment is way more common than any of us are admitting.

A recent study revealed that one in five mothers experience gender disappointment either at their scan or after the birth, if they’d not found out the sex previously.

So what’s going on? Why are we experiencing this disappointment during what should be such a happy time in our lives?

Culturally, we really don’t help ourselves.

We buy into all the bull about girls being their mothers best friends (I know plenty women who can’t stand their mother!), about boys being easier as teenagers (I know plenty parents tearing their hair out over teenage sons). We believe that our lives will turn out a certain way depending on the gender of our children. We don’t envisage the fact we could be stuck on freezing rainy football pitches watching our daughters play football or that we could have sons who become our main carer in our old age while their sister isn’t as nurturing.

We hold gender reveals and baby showers which put huge pressure on expectant mothers, and we think nothing societally of saying things like “Oh my goodness you’ve got all boys! I bet you’re devastated you didn’t get a girl!”

In other cultures the value of having a son, to carry on the family name and to act as the patriarch in waiting, puts huge pressure on mothers; some even being shunned if they ‘fail’ to produce a son and heir.

Regardless of our reasons for feeling disappointment, be it fleeting or more prolonged, my advice would be the same as it is for most feelings of sadness.

You don’t have to justify it to yourself. You don’t have to drown in guilt towards your child or towards women who would love a child. You can sit with it and accept it. You are allowed to grieve never having the child you imagined, just as surely as you are allowed to be bowled over with love for the one in your arms.

Talk it out with someone you trust and know won’t judge you. Most importantly, be kind to your (very hormonal) heart.