We did not have a girl baby because I am a quilter.
Okay, I used to quilt. But hey, I got my sewing machine set back up again this weekend so there is hope.
The fact that my chosen sewing-related hobby is quilting tells you two things about me:
I can sew.
I like sewing flat things.
If we had a girl baby, because of the bit above that says “I can sew,” people who know I can sew would expect me to make her dresses and rompers and whatever. However, did you read that bit up above that says “I like sewing flat things”? Last I checked, children’s clothing is not flat.
So people would ask me when I was going to sew something for her, and when I said “never” they wouldn’t believe me in the same way that no one believes me when I said I didn’t want to have another baby, and I’m all “no really” and they’re like “you’ll forget how much you hated being pregnant” and I’m all “maybe if I get a head injury.” It is my least favorite thing to be told how I feel, by the way. It’s even worse than chocolate. (If you’re new here, I hate chocolate. Hate. I hate being told I don’t really hate it, too, so don’t go there.)
While attempting to maintain my disguise as a civil, non-misanthropic member of society when in the presence of my offspring, I would then be burdened with two things I already get AND a third thing:
1. My desperate boredom at having to hear the 1,032nd stranger say “Well I can see where that child gets the red hair from!” or “You must be Irish!” or whatever stunningly insightful comment they can come up with about the fact that C-Man, Boy Detective, and I are all redheads. OMG, yes, sometimes people with red hair meet, get married, and have children. But we’re GERMAN and SCOTTISH and no, no one has ever mentioned it before that we all have red hair so you are providing me with extremely valuable information.
2. My complete lack of desire to respond to the question “How old is he?” from other parents of young children given that right now, the second most popular topic after his hair color is his extremely articulate speech, and it makes other parents act like their two year old is somehow defective – because you know, Boy Detective was walking independently at nine months and now all the other two year olds are still not as good at walking as he is? Oh, except hang on, they’re all walking the same now and have been for quite some time. And my kid barks out the window when he sees a dog walking down the street, so you might want to factor that in.
3. The pressure of continually defending to friends and family my complete lack of desire to make floral bloomers or bonnets or whatever and cover them with ruffles and gathers and smocking.
Thank you, universe, for not sending me a girl baby. I can only handle so much.