Before anyone asks, no, I’m not some sort of new age, millennial, hipster-chic parent living in a commune, attempting to raise genderless, nameless offspring who will one day grow up and decide these things independent of their father and me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s just not us. My husband and I learned all three of our kids’ biological sexes via ultrasound and we planned accordingly. I dressed my boys in blue, my girl in pink.
I’d always hoped to have a child of each gender. And God, in only God’s divine way, was brilliant enough to give me one of each: a cisgender male, Jack, born in 2000, a cisgender female. Kate, born in 2002, and a few years later, when my third and last child was born, well, God threw all caution to the wind and decided to confuse everyone and make the ride just a little more fun.
