I’m a Feminist and I’m Excited About My Baby’s Sex

I’m a feminist and I’m excited about my baby’s sex.

There. I said it.

I know, I’m bad. Is there a “Fem-Card” that gets taken away in situations such as these?

When it came down to it, my husband and I had no preference towards the sex of our baby. I was convinced the baby was a boy, not by any sort of desire, but instead due to a dream about a baby boy named Elijah Lee (maybe someday).

Whenever I was 15 weeks pregnant, I took a blood test to find out if our daughter had any genetic abnormalities. As a result, I was able to find out her sex through her own genetic makeup (isn’t science amazing?). Not only was I wanting to prepare myself in the event that she did have a disability, I was clinging to anything that would help me get to know her as a person. I felt disconnected from the child that I was creating. Instead of a mother, I was a human incubator. And though I never thought it possible, finding out that my kid had two X chromosomes brought me a feeling of relief. We could narrow down our list of names. We could refer to our child as “her,” instead of “The Baby”. I could begin to picture her in our daily lives. I could picture her playing in the mud with her siblings. I could picture my father teaching her how to garden, and my mother teaching her how to paint. I could see her scoring a winning soccer goal, or hitting the high note in the local children’s choir.

“My daughter,” I thought, “I’m going to have a daughter.”

We did not have a huge reveal party or anything of that nature. It’s not our style. Instead, we asked the receptionist to seal the result in an envelope. We went out to dinner and opened it together.

Recently, I’ve been seeing articles that put down women who find out their baby’s sex. I’ve seen articles that slam women for putting their daughters in dresses or signing them up for ballet lessons.

It made me feel small. I began to question myself: Is it right for me to look forward to parenting a girl?

And the answer I came up with, was: Absolutely.

True feminism is not a war against pink but instead a celebration of it. It is a celebration of choice. It is a celebration of staying true to one’s core self. The war against femininity is one of America’s greatest ironies. Instead of empowering women, it has the capability of oppressing those who do identify with traditionally feminine traits. How often was I told that I cannot be a feminist while wearing a skirt? How often do articles tell me that I cannot be a stay at home mom and an advocate for women’s rights? What about my high school boyfriend, who lectured me on my choice of career because it was not “masculine enough to be empowering”?

I am proud to give birth to a daughter. I don’t care if she prefers to dress like Scout Finch or Elizabeth Bennett; I’m going to support her. I don’t care if she tears up a soccer field or shreds an opponent in speech and debate. I will support her. Should my daughter fall in love with princesses and the color pink, I will proudly wear a crown along side her (even though glitter makes me cringe). Looking forward to having a daughter has no correlation with the way in which I intend to raise her. My daughter may dress in overalls or Ugg boots, but no matter what, she will be kind, responsible, and aware. She will care about those in need. She will see those that are hurting and will have been taught from birth that it is her duty to ensure that the outcasts have a friend in her.

Whether my daughter decides to dress in pink or blue, she will be a super hero. I just know it.

 

Sincerely,

Sarah E.B. Christison

Sorry About That

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