When the sonographer told me that my sixth baby would be a girl, I told her to check again

My life was so perfect, so blessed, so whole — food-clothing-shelter,

wonderful husband, beautiful children — but I wanted something extra. With five lively, happy (fighting) boys in tow, I’d meet friends and notice that girls come with ruffles and bows, all serving no purpose other than to celebrate their femininity. I wanted that extra; I wanted a girl.

When the sonographer told me that my sixth baby would be a girl, I told her to check again. And then again. Please, a third time just to make sure. I controlled myself until I left the office and then broke into a face-splitting smile. I went home and browsed online for clothing for my baby-to-be, rubbing my eyes in disbelief and pleasure. Pink!

I didn’t fully believe this child would be a girl until she was born. My friends and relatives claim that for a while afterward I was talking in high-pitched tones. To make sure I’d never forget she was a girl, I called her my “female girl, baby meidy, mommy daughter.”

I realized she needed her own identity when her brothers showed her a video on the family camera, and she pointed to herself, giggling, and said “Mommy dauda (daughter)!” After that, I started calling her by her name, Hendel.