While waiting hours upon hours to be called for the first sonogram, I glare at couples holding hands and laughing.
After I undress in the tiny room, the sonogram technician opens the curtain. “Do you wanna wait for the father?" she asks.
“No, he left for work,” I lie.
“Okay, let's get started. Are you excited to find out the sex?”
“I'm nervous. I really want a girl,” I say as I lay on the examination chair.
She passes the head of the fetal doppler through the cold blue gel on my belly.
With trepidation, I peek at the small black and gray picture on the screen. A thin leg and a foot flash across it.
My baby! I silently exclaim.
“Wow, this one's somersaulting! You just ate, huh?” the technician says.
“Yeah, a pb&j,” I giggle.
“Let's see if I can... Yep, there it is! You have a very active boy!”
“Oh, wow,” I say aloud. Inside my head, I scream, A boy! Oh, no... a boy needs his father!
“Congratulations,” she says, handing me ten sonogram photos of my beautiful baby. I try, but it's hard to tell if the nose in the photos is the same as mine or Amir's.
How can I raise a boy? How will I teach him about male privilege? About sex?
“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile. I want to cry.
I already expect parenting to be hard. But, as a mother, I will be in a powerful position: the way I raise my son will affect his worldview, the way he treats people, especially women, and whether or not he views himself in a positive light.
I'm not sure if I can do it.