Or at least, I don't think I do.
But I will tell you very candidly that when they told me all the initial amnio results were fine, I was elated. And when they told me it was a boy, I started to cry.
The crying turned into sobbing, turned into hysteria, turned into rage. It wasn't pretty.
I had a preference, sure. But I was entirely unprepared for my overwhelmingly negative reaction.
And because I recognized that I should be thankful that the human I'm creating is healthy, I felt so ashamed.
I came home the night of the news and headed straight for a shower. I discovered this in college: if you cry in the shower, it's not so obvious. You can cry a lot and nobody will know.
But Nick wandered in to ask about dinner. And found me soaking wet, sobbing, choking, completely and utterly disconsolate. And I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't even want to be crying.
What kind of a terrible, horrible, vile, ungrateful person is this upset over a healthy baby?
But you can't shower forever - another thing I learned in college.
So, once dried, fleece-outfitted, and ensconced in Nick's lap and arms, I proceeded to sob some more.
Here's the thing. Not only was I sad, I was angry. Not just angry. Furious. Enraged. Hateful.
"Why?" I finally wailed. "Why the fuck would I go through all this hassle just to raise some selfish, cruel asshole who is going to abandon me? I'm not going to. I'm just not."
And I meant it. I just wouldn't. This sense of betrayal and rage, it consumed me.
And this, this is where I thank god for a husband who just listened and for incredibly astute friends who know me - and my family - really well.
Because a friend of mine sat me down and said the following.
That boys don't categorically turn into selfish assholes that treat their mothers terribly.
That just because he's a boy, doesn't mean he's going to behave like my brother. Doesn't mean he's going to go out of his way to hurt me.
That how my brother behaves is his own selfish, cruel shit.
This little avocado-sized human, he's his own boy. With his own path. One that I'm going to help shape.
The words sunk in. That was exactly the issue.
Of course it's about something bigger. Something else. Something
I couldn't have gotten there on my own. And I am so thankful for getting there. Now I can actually start looking forward to The Boy.
And so my brother. While I mostly try not to think of him, because it makes me really hurt and angry, sometimes I just plain miss him.
In this picture he was 11. It was taken right before my 15th birthday party. He and I were friends by that point. We'd just started having a good relationship the year prior.
I loved that Teenage Torpor t-shirt; I got it in London on the trip to Delhi. And look how cute he is, rocking the 80s in the skinny leather tie.