by Barbara Kay
As my first-born was a boy, I quite reasonably hoped for a girl the second time around. In my technologically antediluvian era, one discovered one’s child’s sex upon delivery. So the long gestational lull was filled with suspense and a good deal of base-covering hypocrisy: “Oh, I don’t care really, as long as it’s healthy” and “Brothers are so cute together!”
Needless to say, when informed I had produced a girl, I gave way to honest emotion and ’fessed up to great joy. I’d realized my tidy fantasy — as the old song goes, “a boy for you and a girl for me.” But had I delivered a second boy, there would still have been joy, and brothers really are cute together.