I wanted a little girl. From the time I was a little girl myself, I knew I wanted one of my own someday. A little girl that could be dressed up in fussy pink dresses and bows, white knee highs and black patent shoes. A little girl with yellow curls, sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks . . . just like the dolls I played with.

I didn't want a little boy. Boys were no fun to dress up! And boys were always just a bit grubby, what with picking up bugs and worms and snails. Besides, boys were noisy and boisterous, not sweet and serene like little girls were. And boys played with guns and trucks and trains. I didn't like those games. Hopscotch and dress-up and tea parties with teddy bears was more to my liking. What would I do with a son?

I had never known any boys very well. Back in the Sixties, when I was growing up, girls played with girls, and boys were something to be taunted and teased. You wouldn't consider inviting a boy to your birthday party, and having one for a pal was unthinkable. Even poor Ken was pertinent only at Barbie's a-ctual marriage ceremony, then stuck back in the closet until the next wedding. Eventually, as I grew older I began to appreciate the male gender as a partner, a companion, a colleague. But I still didn't want a little boy of my own.

My husband and I got married just around the time his two brothers were starting their own families. Within three years, three perfect baby girls were born to them, one after another. Would we too, have such luck? Were there enough female genes left in the family for us? I watched enviously as these fortunate mothers smiled down on their pig-tailed daughters, watching them grow into miniature versions of themselves. The ache in my heart deepened. I wanted to experience that unique bond I was sure could only form between a mother and her daughter.

My best friend Rose was the next to become pregnant. As we sat over herbal tea one afternoon celebrating her good news, I asked her, "And what are you hoping for Rose - a boy or a girl?"
"Why a boy of course,"" she answered instantly."
"A boy? Why on Earth a boy? Don't you want a daughter?" I thought she must be mad.
"Of course a boy. Oh, a daughter would be lovely, but I really want a boy first. Ken wants a son to carry on the family name, and I think it's nice if the brother is older than the sister - you know - to look out for her and protect her."

I couldn't see the soundness of her reasoning . . . after all, I had an older brother, and

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