If you had asked me 6 years ago how I pictured my impending motherhood, I would have told you that I imagined that me and my daughters would be knee-deep in gender-positive activities, challenging the status quo, and showing the world what a real girl is made of.

I don’t really know where I got that image. It just seemed natural that, as a woman, I would produce more women. And as a woman with two fantastic sisters, I would give birth to another amazing sister team. So, at my 18 week ultrasound, I was completely baffled to discover I was having a boy. It’s not that I thought I was having a girl, per se, it was just that having a boy hadn’t occurred to me. It was as if someone had told me that my left elbow was male. It wasn’t a problem, it just took some processing time.

I was mocked for my bafflement. People thought I was being ridiculous, or that I was just trying to cover my disappointment in having a son, but that was really not the case. I just had to figure out how to incorporate this new information into my idea of mothering.

I almost threw something at my friend B. when she squealed in delight at the thought of me having a boy. I was afraid she was one of those people who automatically assume it is better or easier to have boys. Instead, she said that it was important for a boys to have a strong mother like me, so they can grow up to be a good men who respect women and recognize them as equals.

That’s when I clicked my mental Viewmaster to a new picture. I was not to be the leader of a pack of feminist daughters; instead, I would be a spy. I would infiltrate the male ranks via my son, and try to change the system from within. It would be like introducing a virus into the hard drive (ha!) of the patriarchy, like poisoning the well. Sure, I couldn’t bring it down on my own, but I could be part of the solution.

I was comfortable with that.

Now, six years later, I have two small boys to wrangle daily. And I’ve discovered that gender is both far less important, and far more important, than I ever imagined. I love my kids because they are my kids. I’m not sure why I thought I would understand girls any better than I do my sons. The fact that they are boys matters less than the fact that they are two incredibly interesting individuals. But at the same time, I find that I don’t understand their motivations--the smashing, and the shouting, and the fart-related amusements.

I worry about trying to discipline them for things that are based on their wiring, that they might have little or no control over. I worry about falling into the assumption that something is gender-based, when it is really just bad behaviour. I now realize that I would probably be worried about a lot of the same things if I had girls, but I might come at it from a different angle.

So far, my only plan is to try to deal with gender consciously. To give the whole process of parenting a lot of thought. To question my own assumptions (and everyone else’s). To avoid letting their gender entitle or limit them. To try to give two little boys the tools they need to become good men.

Here’s hoping I do a good job of it.