I found out today the sex of my baby.  All I wanted to hear was that the baby was healthy.  All I wanted the doctor to say was that everything was in its proper place and that the child is developing nicely and in a relatively normal manner.  That was all I wanted.  HOWEVER, in the days and even a week or so leading up to this ultrasound appointment EVERYBODY kept asking me which sex I preferred.  Seriously, after the sickness and all the crap I didn’t care, but with all the heckling from Jessie, my mom, and everybody else with an opinion, I was forced to think about it.  Before I became pregnant and in the first few weeks of this pregnancy, I preferred having a daughter just a tiny bit over having a son.  I think that’s just a typical girl thing.  Every girl wants a little daughter and blah blah blah.  However, upon having an introspective look at my personality in trying to figure out which I preferred, I decided that I might be a terrible mother to a daughter.  I would hold my daughter to really high standards and expect a lot from her.  It would be very easy for my daughter to disappoint me.  I have certain ideas of what I think a woman should be and there are certain characteristics I see so many young girls flaunting these days that I find nauseating.  I would simply be horrified if my daughter became a product of her time.  I would disown my daughter if she showed any interest in  growing up to be like Paris Hilton.  I’m just like that.  I don’t see myself as a super motherly ooey gooey type like that.  I think I would be uncomfortable if my daughter wanted to be a cheerleader and was super interested in things that I find to be very superficial.  I would want to raise a daughter that aspired to be a Supreme Court Justice or an activist for human rights.  I’d be terrified all through her college years that she would end up on Girls Gone Wild.  I just think that my standards for what I would hold my daughter to would just be unreasonable and I would be unreasonably hard on her.

The next step was to try to figure out what kind of son I would raise.  Again, I have certain pictures in my mind of what I think a man should be.  I want my son to have backbone, yet be gentle and easy to talk to.  I would want my son to be intelligent and treat people with a certain amount of respect, especially if they are deserving of it.  I don’t want a self-centered frat boy who gets blasted out of his skull every weekend, uses women only for sex, and who makes a total waste of all his time by devoting it to only a couple things that would mostly involve him sitting on a couch.  No matter what I’ll have high expectations for my children.  I’ll be the one that is a little hard on them, I’ll be the one that pushes them to make something of themselves and to not just do what is expected of their generation.  I’m not going to ever win a mother of the year award.  These are realities that I need to face so that my kids can at least talk to me about it later and I won’t be an idiot and flat out deny everything.  I know myself, and I know my ugly side.  I know that I’m gonna be riding this poor kid’s back most of their life, trying to get them to reach for higher goals, to strive for something better.  It looks so romantic in written form, doesn’t it?  Unfortunately for the poor little preson who has to live through it, they may never realize my intentions.  I’ll just come off looking like mega-bitch as always.  Anyway, I’m having a boy.  His name will be Lukas Drake Canon.  He’s due at the end of September.  Can’t wait to meet him.  Decidedly, it seems that I could fuck up a boy a little less than a girl.  I’ll try.