Literary mothers gender-flect

Writer and editor Andrea Buchanan acknowledges that when she was pregnant with her second child, she was "freaked out" about having a boy.

Buchanan, 34, was the eldest of three girls, and her first child, Emi, now almost 7, fit right into her girl world. But Nate, now 31/2, was an unknown quantity.

Rather than just talk about her fears, Buchanan, who lives in Philadelphia, enlisted literary-minded women to discuss raising sons vs. daughters.

"Being surrounded by girls my whole life, I was nervous about having a son," she says. "The more that I talked with people about these sorts of things, the more I thought, 'This is bigger than one little essay.'"

The result is the newly released It's a Girl: Women Writers on Raising Daughters, a companion to It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising Sons, published in November. Among those sharing experiences are Jacquelyn Mitchard, Jodi Picoult and Marion Winik.

Buchanan, who is married to a physician, says many of the writers shared her gender concerns.

"In the boy book, people seem to be nervous because they had no idea what they're getting into," she says. "In the girl book, the writers are nervous because they know exactly what they're getting into."

Buchanan, managing editor of the online magazine Literary Mama, says questions of whether boys or girls are easier is a "puzzler." She says mother-daughter relationships are more intense, often complicated by the dynamics of the new mom's relationship with her own mother.

But Buchanan says the fears she had before Nate's birth now seem ridiculous.

"How could I have thought that? He's not this alien being. He's a baby, just like my other baby," she says. "What I see being far more relevant to parenting and kids is their temperament. It's so not about gender."

Jenny Block: "On Being Barbie"

My daughter plays with Barbies, and I'm starting to look like one. I can't help but wonder -- is this a bad thing?

You see, I believe I am teaching her all the right stuff. That she should respect people and their differences. That neither beauty nor weight speaks to the quality of a person's soul. That kindness and intelligence are the virtues toward which everyone should strive.

But I also have quite a few fashion magazines lying around. And I do take an inordinate amount of pride in my appearance.

And, well, when things aren't looking quite the way I would like, I've had no problem with visiting a plastic surgeon -- three times.

Jacquelyn Mitchard: "Confessions

of a Tomboy Mom"

Why was I adopting a child? It was an eccentric choice. I had three sons already. Nearing forty, I'd been widowed the previous year. The idea of adding a new family member had prompted more than a few raised eyebrows (not to mention raised voices) in my extended family. Nevertheless, here we were, two single moms -- one possibly too old and one certainly too young -- bringing into the world a new baby, while in the hall at this Methodist hospital, a choir of nurses sang about yet a third single mother and her baby in the manger.

And then, there she was, big and bonny, too curious about the world to cry. A beautiful little -- girl? A moment of panic sliced through my joy: What in the name of all that was sensible was I going to do with a girl?

Melanie Lynne Hauser: "Shapeshifter"

You are the mother of a teenage boy.

Look at the creature, his hairy toes peeking out of flip-flops even though it's thirty degrees out and snowing. Today he is cool. Too cool for words. He walks five feet ahead of you, his hands in his pockets or held stiffly by his side, his shoulders hunched forward because he is always just a little afraid that everyone in the entire world is looking at him. And just in case they are, he would rather they not figure out that the smiling, nodding woman running after him -- actually pausing to converse with people! People she knows! -- is his mother.

Jodi Picoult: "Scaredy-Cat"

Before 9/11, I had a much better handle on parenting. I knew what was safe and what wasn't; I could say with conviction that planes did not fall out of the sky on purpose; I believed that children you tucked in at night were secure in their bedrooms. I worried on my children's behalf about bullies and cliques and the day the cafeteria served fun fish shapes for lunch -- not about anthrax and smallpox and wars half a world away.

After 9/11, however, I got scared. I remember taking the kids to school, where Kyle turned to me before getting out of the van. "Mom," he asked, "is anything going to happen to us here?"

"No," I heard myself telling him firmly, although my hands were shaking. "We're all going to be fine."

That's the other thing that happened after 9/11 -- I found myself lying to my own children. I told them they were safe, when the truth was, I really wasn't entirely sure.

Marion Winik: "Our Bodies,

Their Selves"

There are days when the only reason I love my children is because they're so unbelievably good-looking. That honey-colored hair. The curve of that baby belly. The wholly innocent lower lip. Those round, clear eyes with their pale fringe of lashes. Sometimes a sweet little bare foot, perhaps with a 101 Dalmatians Band-Aid on the fourth toe, can almost make up for two hours of whining and a puddle of Gatorade. I often answer the question "How are your boys?" with "They're adorable." Well, they are.

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