I discovered I was pregnant for the fourth time while visiting my parents overseas. Within seconds of peeing on the pregnancy test, the positive line appeared. I couldn’t believe my jet-lagged eyes. I kept shtum to my family, declining offers of pinot gris, and covertly slipping in folic acid at breakfast. My first pregnancy had gone swimmingly but I’d recently suffered two consecutive miscarriages. The latter landed me in resuscitation from severe blood loss. I wasn’t sure I could announce another pregnancy only for it to go down the toilet again in a few weeks.
Still, this one persisted. I flew home and the weeks rolled on with no cramps or bleeding. My stomach grew rounder and I felt so lucky. After my second miscarriage, my partner and I had every genetic test under the sun. The doctors couldn’t find a reason for our losses – they just were. With this pregnancy, we opted for a NIPT, an early blood test that screens for major genetic conditions. It also reveals the baby’s gender. I was sure all I wanted was a healthy baby, so I surprised myself when I received the report, breezed past the health checks and scrolled straight to the gender. XY: a boy.
Mulling over the report, there was a pit in my stomach. I realised that I wanted this baby to be healthy but expected them to be a girl. That evening, I called my parents with our news, adding, 'it’s a boy though'. They brushed past the ‘though’ and were excited that my son would have a brother to do brotherly things with. I ended the call within a couple of minutes. I had never given anyone – including myself – any indication I yearned for a girl. I’m a full-time mum to a 2-year-old son who is my universe. I’ve never questioned all the things, including his male chromosomes, that make him the person he is.
When I started researching my feelings, I came across the phenomena of ‘gender disappointment’, on which Dr Lindsay McMillan, a British clinical psychologist, is a specialist. She calls it 'an extremely layered, nuanced and complex parenthood experience'.
You may have heard about it recently too. Kylie Kelce (also known as sister-in-law to Taylor Swift’s boyfriend, Travis), spoke about her own experience with gender disappointment on the launch of her podcast Not Gonna Lie. On finding out she was pregnant with her second daughter, she said, 'I had somehow convinced myself in my subconscious not even knowingly that it was a boy. So when I heard that it was a girl, I completely lost it.' The podcast debuted at number one on the charts, and with as many as one in five women feeling gender disappointment, it’s clear I’m not alone.
Like Kelce, I’d convinced my heart of the gender of my baby even though my rational mind knew it was a 50/50 chance. I wish I could attribute all my feelings to an outdated gender narrative but it wasn’t as black and white as wanting a girl to wear pink. When I had pictured what my daughter would be like, there wasn’t anything overtly ‘feminine’ about her. I imagined she may rock climb like me but would be more academic. I knew her name and pictured her with my eyes and my partner’s brown skin. When she grew up, we would have an unbreakable mother-daughter bond. I hadn’t given much thought to what a second boy may be like but I let myself conjure up this imaginary daughter, who bore the unfair responsibility of being a better version of me.
While the conversation around gender disappointment may be opening up, Dr Chrishanthy Grace Jayarajah, a consultant perinatal psychiatrist who has published research on the subject, notes that ‘son preference’ has long been recognised in many cultures. In the West, she observes something different at play, 'a desire to have "gender balance" within families… for parents to have the experience of parenting a son and a daughter.'
Dr Jayarajah points to social media and the viral trend for gender reveals in part driving, 'imagined ideals of gender which are heightened around the time of pregnancy.' Indeed, it did feel like what I was grappling with. It wasn’t that I didn’t want another son but I wanted the experience of raising a daughter too, like the mixed-gendered families I had cornered myself into seeing.
At 37 years old (or ‘advanced maternal age’ as my doctor puts it), parenthood for me will likely be served as a mother to two boys. When others struggle with infertility, I know I am so lucky to have this opportunity and will love both my sons endlessly, but, I’m also willing to forgive myself for grieving the possibility of a daughter. I’m assured by the experts I have spoken to that it is entirely natural.
I recently had my 20-week anatomy scan. My baby had hiccups that made him look like he was dancing on the screen. Perhaps he will be a dancer. Maybe, he’ll like some of the same things I do, or, he may hate it all. When I saw him in that scan though the fog around his gender parted and it became clear - he is exactly who he is meant to be.