One hundred years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I asked for a baby, any ol’ baby, just a baby. I don’t even remember asking for a “healthy” baby, though that is what I got, a healthy baby of the boy-child variety.
I don’t remember being disappointed or elated either one, just ecstatic that he’d arrived.
Not this woman or other women like her. They desperately wanted a boy. Or a girl, and were — to say the least — disappointed when things didn’t work out the way they’d expected, and now they suffer from the (newly named and unofficial diagnosis of) Gender Disappointment.
This is yet again something about which I can’t wrap my mind. And thanks, Sister Letha, for the link.