When I became pregnant in 1993, I desperately wanted a girl. I was ecstatic when my obstetrician predicted from the fetus’ fast heartbeat that I was carrying one. I cried with gratitude.

I bonded early with my daughter-to-be. I named her Hayley, after a character in a book I was reading at the time. I spent hours writing to my unborn child and could already “feel” what a remarkable person she was going to be. I would help her be that remarkable person.

So I was thrown for a loop a few weeks later when an ultrasound indicated that I was carrying a boy. I didn’t believe it at first—how could my maternal instincts be so “off”? But seeing the blurry evidence on my next ultrasound convinced me I was either having a son or my daughter had some weird phallic-looking growth.

As I went deeper into self-analysis, I realized that my desire for a daughter stemmed from missing out on a great relationship with my own mom. A daughter would help fill a hole in my heart. This was a scary thought, and horrendous pressure to put on a child. I became resigned, and then excited about a son.

Jake was born in 1994 and Micah two years later. They are phenomenal, and I will refrain from bragging. I can’t imagine wanting daughters now. And knowing I could potentially do less damage to sons than daughters has always been a reassuring thought.

Yet, even with sons, I worry sometimes that too much of my identity is tied to being their “mom”, and that I rely on them for my own happiness. A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a book called Cheating Parents-Recovering From Parental Infidelity which included a questionnaire to assess how enmeshed I was in my sons’ lives (as a result of my having grown up in a family with a “cheating parent”).

(Read my post: Can I Recover From My Cheating Parent?)

I answered the questionnaire honestly and could see where I had some work to do. But I figured my own self-assessment was not nearly as important as how my sons perceive me. So, here are Jake’s answers (I did not edit) to some of the questions from Cheating Parents, and his take on how I measure up.

Are my children my best friends?
God no. The dog is.

Do I tend to avoid confrontation?
No. The swearing we do to one another is something I find rather healthy, and our ways of resolving conflict are open and respectful.

Do I take pride in how close I am to my children?
Yes. It means a significant amount to you that neither Micah nor I have rebelled or felt that you did not understand us. We are fine with holding your hand in public, as well as hanging out with your friends at dinner parties.

Do others accuse me of babying my children?
No. On the contrary, you have always treated us as adults (talking to us as such from a very early age). If ever you are critiqued for babying us, it would be a matter of your protectiveness/worrying—which, after all, is something you would like not to have, and so isn’t an active pursuit of babying.

Does my life revolve almost exclusively around my children?
No. You are content knowing that you do things, such as writing, spending time with John, taking cooking and writing courses for yourself. If we were your only anchors, center of gravity, this you would find deeply uncomfortable.

Do I share my whole life with my children?
Dumb question, no one is capable of sharing her whole life. Yet if this is a matter of sharing things that are on your mind, your interests, etc., then yes—you share and we like to hear.

Am I afraid to let go of my children and let them grow up?
No. While there are some inevitable mixed emotions about the empty nest, the only time that you would hypothetically ever be afraid of us growing up is if it seemed we were entering a new chapter in life it looked we would not enjoy.

Do I feel like a martyr because I sacrifice so much for the sake of my children?
Hah, no. Who writes these questions?

I have fought hard with my own internal demons to give my kids independence and autonomy. Perhaps being aware of my parenting blind spots has helped to counterbalance my natural tendency to enmesh myself too much in their lives. As I read Jake’s answers I like to think they turned out ok.

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