I should preface by saying that I didn’t think I could get pregnant in the first place. I have endometriosis and I’ve been trying for a while. When I finally got pregnant (my first) I was over the moon. I KNEW it was my little boy. I called him he from the minute he was conceived, I always envisioned myself with a son. A mama’s boy. I had all the boy symptoms. 0 morning sickness at all, my belly looks like how one would carry a boy, no acne, craving manly foods, eating an entire buffet everyday when I normally eat like a bird, all those dumb little myths point to boy. I just found out it’s a girl and I’m really depressed about it. Really depressed. I feel dumb for telling everyone so confidently that I have a little boy growing up inside me.

I never wanted a daughter. Women scare me. I’ve never liked women. I don’t even like the feminine traits about myself. And I’m a pretty feminine woman. I found myself thinking how will I prevent my daughter from being a slut when she grows up? When I was in high school, all the girls were... just disgusting. I don’t want that. I feel like an awful person for thinking these thoughts about the innocent little being in my tummy but I can’t help but have my mind wander to that dark place.

I know that I bond better with boys. I’ve had female cats all the time growing up but once I had a male cat, I fell in love with him more than I knew I could. I know it sounds stupid to compare a child to a cat but it’s my honest truth. I’ve got a few furry friends. A chinchilla, kitty, ferret, all boys. Except one other ferret who is a girl and I hate to say but I don’t feel as close to her as I do the boys.

I’m grieving my son who I’ll probably never have. I can’t have more than one kid because I wouldn’t be able to afford it. I can’t afford to adopt a boy either.

I’m grieving the son I bonded with throughout this pregnancy, the son I thought I knew I was having, the son I named Charles and had multiple dreams about. The son I was supposed to rap with in the car, the son I was supposed to play video games with, the son who was supposed to bring home a special girl (or guy) one day who isn’t like the rest, the son I was supposed to play legos with, the son who would’ve said “hey don’t you talk about my mama like that!” The son I was supposed to raise to be the best man he could be. My little smart ass, my little mama’s boy, my little brat.

It literally feels like he died.