I count my blessings
It must be 2004-2005. I am about ten years old. Mom and grandma are talking about an acquaintance. From the tidbits that I pay attention to while reading Harry Potter, I gather that this couple recently had a third female child while they were desperately wishing for a son. Apparently some ‘Baba’ has advised them to dress one of their girls as a boy. An image of a male child would ensure that the mother bears a son next time. They choose their second daughter, an eight-year old, for this purpose. My mom and grandma agree that this is insane and unacceptable, and the conversation ends there. I am twelve now. grandma is gossiping about that family again. The mother is pregnant, but ultrasound says it’s a girl. They are going to abort the child. They are giving up. Their daughter will go back to long hair and girly clothes. I must be around ten again. A friend who lives nearby is over to study with me on a Sunday afternoon. She is the fifth girl child in her family, with one younger