I had a feeling our child would be a boy. She thought it would be a girl. As with so much else in our marriage, she was right and I was wrong. For once, though, I don't care.
Coaching my wife through the pain, hearing her cry out after the woefully inadequate analgesics had worn off, and concentrating on her comfort during seemingly endless contractions took all of my attention while she was in labor. I was so focused on her that it was only a chance look at her obstetrician that reminded me why we were here - the baby's head had emerged and the OB said, "one more push, one more push... it's a girl!"
My daughter's insistent wailing filled the air. In that moment, I forgot about my wife. Heck, my wife forgot about my wife. Despite her exhausted state, she gasped and murmured, "we have a baby." All I could do was stare at that crying little infant and for the first time, the words "my daughter" popped into my head. I felt such a flood of relief and joy that I slowly exhaled and for several seconds forgot to breathe back in.
For us, not knowing the gender in advance prevented some of the biases that might have otherwise crept into our planning like decorating the room in pink or loading up on sports-themed baby outfits.
Although if anyone has a lead on diapers with the New York Yankees logo on them - on the inside, of course - please send me a link.
I cannot now imagine any other scenario. I cannot imagine how I would feel had my child been a boy, although I doubt my emotions would be any different than they are now. And I don't want to. I love my daughter.
That's all I need to know.
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