During my 20-week ultrasound, my partner and I were unable to capture any clear images of our baby due to his position. Instead, the sonographer provided us with a printout of the genital area, revealing that we were expecting a boy.
Growing up in a predominantly female household—consisting of my mother, two sisters, and a father uninterested in traditional masculine activities—boys were somewhat of a foreign concept to me. My only encounters with males were our two neutered cats, humorously named Mr. White and Mr. Orange by my dad, a nod to the film “Reservoir Dogs.”
Attending an all-girls school further distanced me from boys, making them seem almost mythical. I did have a brief interaction with a boy during my early teens, but it was limited to a few conversations on the phone and one meeting at a park.
As I matured, my childhood detachment from boys transformed into a wariness and skepticism towards men. This sentiment stemmed from various negative experiences, such as witnessing sexist behavior in university and facing issues like ghosting and unsolicited explicit messages on dating apps. Coupled with my growing interest in gender issues, my lack of close relationships with men began to feel less like a coincidence and more like a principled stance.
Although I have appreciated certain men in my life, including my partner, they have often felt like exceptions rather than the norm.
Consequently, when I discovered I was having a boy, I felt a sense of apprehension. It wasn’t that I had a preference for a girl; after experiencing a previous loss, my primary desire was for a healthy child. However, the thought of raising a son—what that would entail—left me uncertain.
Fortunately, friends and acquaintances were quick to share their unsolicited advice. One woman in a supermarket remarked, “Boys are like dogs; they just need food, sleep, and exercise.” In some social circles, having a boy was viewed negatively, with some friends expressing relief at having daughters and joking that boys were unwelcome at our gatherings. I was often asked how I felt about having a son, as if it were a therapy session addressing a minor trauma. A few people attempted to reassure me, saying they could picture me as a boy’s mother, which felt somewhat patronizing.
Meanwhile, my son seemed to be developing his own personality. I engaged with him through conversation and music, noticing his movements in my belly. Around this time, discussions surrounding masculinity gained traction, with various media focusing on issues like men’s mental health. The challenges of raising a “good” boy became a widely debated subject, yet the narratives I encountered about having a son echoed my own past sentiments about men, feeling overly simplistic.
My son was born in the early hours of the morning. The experience was bewildering—the intensity of labor followed by the moment of holding a tiny, unfamiliar being who was also intimately known to me. I marveled at his unusually long fingernails before he was taken for initial examinations. It was only when he was returned to me that a midwife inquired about his sex.
This led to a moment of confusion; I confirmed he was a boy based on the ultrasound results. However, the midwife questioned if anyone had physically verified it, pointing out that errors can happen. The medical staff exchanged glances, realizing no one had checked. He was taken away for confirmation, which turned out to be accurate. In that humorous yet surreal moment, the significance of his gender, previously a focal point, seemed trivial.
Now, five months later, I still encounter strangers eager to share their thoughts on the energy required to keep up with a boy, or speculating that I might want a girl next. My son’s name resonates with a sports figure, a 19th-century author, and a character from a beloved children’s story—depicting a boy who is adventurous, sensitive, and courageous, embodying the diverse possibilities of boyhood. My hope is that he grows up without the belief that being a boy inherently signifies a problem. While I worry about the lessons he might learn about masculinity from society, I will strive to refrain from expressing disdain for men in his presence.
Imogen Crimp’s “Give Me Everything You’ve Got” will be released on May 7 (Bloomsbury, £18.99). To support The Guardian, you can purchase your copy at guardianbookshop.com.
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