“If he says it’s two boys, promise me we can try for another baby.”



I looked at my husband, tears spilling down my face, as we waited for the phone to ring with the results of our genetic testing. I was 12 weeks pregnant with twins, and I was mortified by the way I felt. I just wanted to be excited, like normal mothers, about whatever we were about to hear, and to start eagerly picking names and decorating cribs. But as hard as I tried to bury it, I was desperate for a daughter. When the phone rang, I already knew before they told me. I was having two boys.

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Before rushing to judgment, understand that I knew nothing about being a mother. Newly pregnant for the first time, I had no idea that, within seconds of being born, these two boys would become my entire world, the loves of my life, and would fill my heart so thoroughly that I couldn’t imagine ever wanting them to be someone else. A decade later, I’d choose them a thousand times over. But the fact is, throughout most of my pregnancy, I couldn’t stop thinking about having a daughter. The thought of living without her was terrifying. The shame I felt for that was unrelenting.

They authors sons as babies. Now, they’re 10 years old. Courtesy of Jackie Goldschneider

I pictured my life as the mother of boys to be one lived at a distance, as a caretaker, observing their experiences with their father. I’d do their laundry while he taught them to throw a ball; I’d make them food while they bonded on the couch, cheering for their favorite teams. He’d teach them how to be a man, something I knew nothing about, as I stood on the outskirts of their life. They’d come to him about girls, about puberty, about everything. They’d love me, but not like they loved him. And then they’d leave.

One day they’d replace me with a woman who would come first. She’d demand it. They’d still love me, but not like they loved her.

But daughters were different, I thought. My daughter would need me her whole life. We’d get manicures and talk about her crushes and I’d pass down all my pretty things to her. I’d throw her bridal shower and help raise her babies. I buried the what-ifs. If I had a daughter, she’d never leave me, because daughters don’t leave.

When I met moms of boys I desperately wanted to ask them what it was like. Do they love you, really love you, like they love their father? Do they need you? Do you feel complete? Of course, I couldn’t ask any of those questions without coming off as insulting and cold. I just wanted to be like them, to be ok with only having sons. I felt like the only expectant mother who didn’t feel what she was supposed to be feeling.

For me, it was the fear of letting go of the vision of motherhood that I’ve always had.

But according to Michelle Freedberg, a licensed clinical social worker and the founder and director of the Women’s Wellness Center of Bergen County, gender disappointment is more common than people think. “We all fantasize about what our families will look like and when the reality doesn’t match up, it can be unnerving,” she says. She tells expectant mothers that gender disappointment isn’t about the actual child they’re having, but instead the loss of a dream and facing fears about raising the gender we're getting. For me, it was the fear of letting go of the vision of motherhood that I’ve always had.

Despite being a common feeling, it’s not one parents feel they can address. “There’s a great amount of shame associated with these feelings,” Freedberg says. “Society tells us we should be happy just to be having a child, especially a healthy one, so when parents express feelings of disappointment regarding gender they’re often met with little empathy, and in many cases, judgment that they’re being selfish. These societal reactions force women to repress feelings of disappointment and in many cases cause women to have a huge amount of guilt and anxiety for even having them.”

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Freedberg warns that repressing these feelings may cause them to come out in other ways. “You could have feelings of resentment towards the child, issues bonding or a plethora of other dynamics,” she says. I was so lucky that none of that happened to me, but during my pregnancy my hidden panic had me searching online for mothers with the same fears. I discovered covert message boards dedicated to women desperate for a daughter. I was relieved and disgusted at the same time. The underground nature of these groups made me feel like I was harboring a dirty, terrible secret.

I didn’t expect anyone’s empathy. After all, isn’t it inherently ungrateful to not be elated about the baby growing inside you, simply because of the stereotypical gender norms you’ve projected onto them? No, according to Freedberg. “Just because you’re disappointed doesn’t mean you won’t bond with your child and love your child,” she says, advising parents who experience these feelings talk to a therapist about them. “Being able to talk in a safe and nonjudgmental environment about your disappointment is the best way to resolve the feelings and to best understand what’s at the root of them so they don’t manifest in some maladaptive way.”

The author, her husband, and their two sets of twins. Courtesy of Jackie Goldschneider

I ended up having two more children, a boy and a girl, but this isn’t a story about how I finally felt complete. I was complete moments after my first sons were born. I still wanted a daughter, but I didn’t need that to feel whole as a mother. This also isn’t a tale about how my 8-year-old daughter hates shopping, worships her father, and wants to live overseas one day, or how my 10-year-old sons always want to be with me, even though that’s all true as well. It’s not a lesson about how the second my boys were born I fell madly in love with them and never looked back, even though there’s nothing truer.



I just wish I knew it was normal to feel the way I felt. I wish someone would’ve told me they felt it, too, and that everything would be ok. Yes, the way I envisioned parenting boys couldn’t have been more off. But the feelings I had were not uncommon. They were real and strong, and they had nothing to do with the little boys I’m raising to be great men. I just wish someone would have told me.

Jackie Goldschneider Jackie Goldschneider is a freelance writer, former lawyer, and cast member of the Real Housewives of New Jersey.

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