Boy oh Boy

I've always wanted a daughter. Ever since I was a teenager I've known I'd want a baby girl someday--to dress, be my live doll.

To just be all mine.

I got married, I got pregnant and I ached for a girl--ached at the sight of the dresses, buttons and bows, the shoes, all that make having a baby girl so much fun. Never had I even imagined having a boy although funnily enough I am in absolute love with Calvin of the cartoon strip Calvin and Hobbes. The idea that I might like having a precocious, darling, supremely imaginative boy of my own just like Calvin was a fantasy I nursed but in the far recesses of my heart and mind.

During my first pregnancy I'd decided not to find out the gender of the baby since I was too afraid of finding out that it wouldn't be a girl. The twenty week sonogram happened and the doctor conducting the exam had a funny grin on his face. I blurted out, "Tell me just tell me. I want a girl so just tell me what it is!"

All he said with a smile was, "If this one's a girl, I want you to call me."

Boy oh boy.

Our son was born.

And I fell in love. I had got my Calvin, dimpled, curly haired and all. Precocious, imaginative, darling and yes, all boy.

Second round. It's got to be a girl. My husband and I even spoke of the baby as she this, she that. The twenty week sonogram happened and this time I was firm. "Don't tell me," I said. "But I might change my mind about knowing so write the "finding" on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope for me to look at later with my husband."

I returned home clutching the envelope, went to my husband's upstairs office and asked him to open it. "I'm way too nervous," I said.

He opened it. Inside was a sonogram print out covered with a post it.

A blank 'post it'.

"Its blank," my husband said. My heart sank. I wanted to cry. That could only mean one thing. He peeled off the 'post it' and on the print out was an arrow pointing to the identifying part and a line below that said.

'It's a boy!'

I lay down on the floor and felt my throat tighten. I didn't feel excitement, no joy. Only a sinking sadness. A selfish sadness I know. But in that moment, the realization that in my lifetime I'd never know what it was like to buy a baby girl frock, or a pretty hair band or a flouncy skirt. Not for my child anyway. I let the tears sting my eyes but I didn't let my husband see them.

He laughed after a moment. "Well...you get to remain queen," he said. "Always."

I tried to laugh with him. He lay down beside me and put an arm around me. "You love our son. This one will be a barrel of laughs and loves too."

"Yes," I said, not convinved, thinking only about the moments I would now miss of daughter and mom shopping trips, followed by coffee and cake somewhere, giggling gossiping sessions on the telephone, the kind I have with my mum. The tiny frilly bikinis, the--I was close to bawling so I stopped letting my mind wander. I felt my new son kick. But I ignored him, didn't touch him back as I had always done so far.

"Its almost time to pick up baby number one from school," I said, got up and made for the door.

"It'll be fun," my husband said. "Really."

I drove to school in a daze.

I tried to make small talk with the other parents. Some of the mums there knew I had had my sonogram that day and asked me if I was willing to tell them what I'd found out. "Its a boy," I tried to say cheerily. "The good news and bad news is I don't have to buy anything new since I have all my son's old stuff. Now I can just spoil myself with jewelry and shoes and bags."

The moment passed and it was time for the kids to come out. First out came this little Steve McQueen look alike. His ultra glamorous mum and big brother were waiting for him. As soon as the boy came out, his brother bent down and put long skinny arms around his little brother. I felt my heart lurch. As the trio started to leave I approached the mother and introduced myself. Asked her what it was like having the two boys. She looked at her kids with twinkling eyes and told me how it was. Small talk, no earth shattering wisdom, just everyday stuff. But I saw how her older son had his arm around his kid brother who was still looking a bit shell shocked after his first day of school. And I felt slightly better. I thanked her, picked up my son who had his arms around my leg and we went home chatting about his day.

I spent the late afternoon playing with my son, trying to wrap my head around dealing with two boys--their boisterousness, their noise, their games, two heads that would smell like a damp puppy dog, all that stuff little boys are made of.

Earlier that day I had gotten in the mail a box full of creams and scrubs I had ordered for myself. I hadn't had a chance to open the box all day and had a meeting in the evening so when I returned home later that night, I was surprised to find the box opened and overturned, the contents gone, the wrapping scattered. I went upstairs to my bedroom and found all the creams arranged neatly on my dressing table along with my other creams. The scrubs, however, were missing. I called the company to say they had forgotten to pack the scrubs. But they were closed. I'd have to call the next day.

Then I asked hubby how come he had opened the box...he usually didn't do that sort of thing if a package had my name on it.

He told me it hadn't been him. Perhaps our son had done it. A wave of tenderness rose within me . I went to my baby who was fast asleep and kissed his face. Then a thought occurred to me. I wasn't kidding when I had said my son was precocious. He's also a very thoughtful and super observant child.

Hmm...I thought and checked inside the bathroom. Sure enough, tucked away inside my storage closet for beauty products sat my body scrubs. The right place for them. They didn't belong on the dresser...they were a bath product. And so my baby had put them there for me to find.

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. What a horrible person I was to have wasted my day worrying about having two boys. If our second was half as darling as our first, I'd be on top of the world. My son will never wear a baby skirt or go shopping with me but he'll always be my baby, my very own--he'll always be someone I can talk to, someone who tells me how nice I look when I am dressed up, someone who admires my earrings with tenderly placed fingers. This time I ran to my son and smothered his sleeping face with kisses. He didn't stir, just shifted a little in his sleep, puckered his mouth and sighed.

All felt right at that moment.

Yes, all would be just fine. My husband was right. My son was a doll. An absolute doll who gave me all the hugs and kisses I asked of him, whose dimpled smile could light up my day. Why would a second son not add to that joy. Knowing this was all the consolation I needed.

I shall walk down the street with my three men--my two sons dressed in crisp dress shirts and khaki pants with leather belts and matching peacoats. My husband and I'll strut beside them with head held high.

And finally now that I have no berets and fancy dresses to buy for a little one anymore, I shall gladly do that strutting in a new pair of Manolos or Jimmy Choos, with a Prada bag slung carelessly over my shoulder.

I close my eyes and imagine the picture. Oh yes, that surely is consolation enough ;-)

Morbid Musings

I think I know now what it might feel like to be debilitated, an invalid.

Truth is all I am is pregnant. It's the all natural first trimester nonsense women all over put up with, seemingly cheerfully, smiling through vomity days and horrendously nauseating hours.

Food tastes like crap. My mind has stopped working. The only solace for me these days is sleep. How horrid is it to want to escape into sleep. To wake up thinking the best part of the day is over. Perhaps this must be how it feels like when life becomes passe', tiresome, when a person says, I am exhausted. Let me sleep and never wake up.

I know it is morbid but I am so out of it these days, surviving only. Hating every single minute of wasted hours spent staring at my computer. Work is impossible, creativity even more so. What a waste, I think, of a summer, of long sunny days, of possibilities that are passing me by.

Why can't I feel the joy of life forming in my womb? It doesn't feel real yet. Its still theory. Right now, what's real is this day long sickness. This must be how it is when horrible disease ravages a body, reduces one to a mass of instincts, shreds us of all that makes us human.

What a nasty feeling wishing away the day so night will bring peace. What a horrible feeling not being able to take my son for long bike rides because all I want to do right now is stare at the walls and feel sorry for myself. How irritating when an hour long workout doesn't invigorate but instead sends the body and mind into complete meltdown.

And this is all natural, wonderful!! Yeah right.

What then, I think, when this happens in a form that isn't natural, isn't going to be followed by happiness, isn't going to end in some months. I am glad to have this experience for it may well be the future. I make a note to call my lawyer and make a living will. I shall refuse treatment for my cancer should it strike. I have learned I don't have the stomach for this kind of living, these fruitless days of waiting, hoping. I just don't have the guts. I am such a chicken.

I know, I know I am being horrific. I am not dying. I just having morning sickness. Grow up! I want to tell myself.

And yet I want to smack the women who have smiled through this for centuries, rubbing their bellies gleefully, dreaming about the future. Goddamn it woman, you're miserable, at least act it! I want to scream.

Why can't I be like those millions of women who sail through these few months with grace, some even without complaint? I am a spoilt brat, I know but why don't I have an ounce of that wisdom so many seem to possess?

Its week 14 now. With any luck I shall be better soon. I wanted to write this before the feeling passed, before life became a whorl of activity again, the abnormality of these days soon forgotten. I want to remember this feeling, morbid as it might be, for it will help me appreciate the days I will have, the good ones. For some years, many years if I am lucky, after which....well, there's always my living will, I suppose.

Or better still....I'd better pack and move to the Netherlands soon.

P.S: I have to say this or I might hurt some. I mean no offense whatsoever to people who are truly ill and fighting disease. I just feel Like I have a glimpse into a different world these days.

Beauty and Brains

I admire beauty, the sheer perfect specimens of creation one sometimes chances to see around be it a man, woman, child, animal, flower, tree, whatever.

It is funny how I sometimes admire women when I'm walking down a and my husband looks askance at me accusing me of having"tendencies."

But the way I look at it is how can one help but admire what a great job nature has done on some creatures. Have you seen a baby donkey? With their soft bangs. They are such cuties, or a child with those curls in the back of their head, the wispy, whorls that only kids can have? Or men and women with perfect features and Greek god and goddess bodies and a sort of radiance that seems to emanate from them.

One thing I have learned is not to dole out compliments to strangers for with women they just look frightened and leave the place--I might be a serial killer. And with men, God knows what they'll think. I mean beauty is no guarantee for good character.

I admire beautiful men too. The super large rounded muscle in a tight tee turns me off since without exception that kind of man has this desperate look on his face. "Please look at me," he seems to be saying, "I have just left my gym where I have been working out for the past three hours and have been skipping dessert for the past twenty years." Nah. that kind of beauty is off-putting. Especially if its accompanied by no gray matter whatsoever.

Which brings me to what is most attractive to me in a person. His brain. I am one of those people like in that Intel ad about having different heroes. They probably have more but the one I have seen has this geeky looking guy walking across the office floor running his fingers through his hair, politely refusing to give his fans autographs and having women gush all over him. I later learned that he is the inventor of the USB and I too thought that was way too cool. The USB, for God's sake!

Cannot mention being attracted to men without talking about my sweetheart of course. I set eyes on him for the first time when he was 17. I was 18. First semester of college. The boys (its engineering and so boys are the majority) are planning a play. They come to me asking if I want to play Sita (Hindu mythological character). "Sure," I say. "Who's Ram?" (Sita's husband). "Him," they say and point to this slender, man-child walking across the classroom. Honest to God, I haven't seen such a grown up cherub before. The flawless complexion, auburn curls, limpid eyes, slender to the point of breaking. Now I come from a family of rough and tumble men. Nut brown, rough hands, gruff manners, all the stereotypical guy features. And at the time I had a crush on a similar sort. A family friend's son who is growing browner by the day playing tennis in the sun, jet-setting all over the globe winning prizes. That he doesn't acknowledge my existence is a different matter altogether.

Anyhow I look at this boy who is sliding across the class and smile. I suggest to the person wanting to cast me that he might want to get someone who might be a better match for "that." Look at me, I say. I could snap that boy in half like a twig. "yes," they plead, "but in this class, only you know how to dance!"

Fine. Obviously, I didn't fall for him like a ton of bricks. How could any self-respecting girl fall for such a pearly faced boy when her own face was so splotchy (from years of skin problems)! Anyway he just wasn't my type.

But then something happened. I slowly starting finding out how positively brilliant this overgrown cherub was. I mean truly. And how supremely forthcoming with his knowledge. And I was floored. The following year, when he sprouted a mustache that resembled a soup stain on his upper lip (not my words, PG Wodehouse's) and giant oozing pimples, I began to reconsider. Then my man went on to give a lecture in front of the class about graphic user interfaces or something and made it so lucid even for me to understand when I thought...well...pimples do dry up. Maybe I should buy him some anti-blemish cream. This could work out.

We're together so obviously it all worked out. I did end up playing Sita. He did play Ram. The play, a musical was supremely funny.

Anyway, I continue to admire beauty. I try not to gush too much at strangers' babies these days or stare for too long at men and women on the street. No I admire people from a distance, marvel at a cheekbone or gorgeous head of hair or brilliant smile.

But I am glad I admire the beauty of the brain best. For once the skin has withered, the chiseled jaw slakened into jowls, the taut muscles turned fleshy, the one thing that can last the longest are the brains and those truly are the loveliest creation of nature.