There are cases in which 'feminism' is a mental disease,

and this is a prime example.
There were two parts to the feeling: I had to mourn the life I thought I was supposed to have, the elder daughter of my two girls (why do we plan things we cannot control?!), and I had to come to terms with having a relationship with a son that I had never really considered. There were dark moments in the middle of the night (when all those dark thoughts come), when I felt sick at the thought of something male growing inside me.
She had the boy, and came to terms with it.  But those terms...
Raising a boy who maintains the status quo sure would be easy, but I refuse to be satisfied with that. I will raise a feminist boy. Just like his father and grandfathers before him, but even better. I will point sexism out to him at every turn, and he will never get away with it without being called out. I will show him that girls are just people like him and that products and art targeted at them are no less valuable or enjoyable. He will be immersed in feminism by a family who models it in their everyday life.
That poor little bastard is probably screwed.  He's going to have every perceived failure of males pointed out- hell, shoved down his throat- until the day he escapes.  Or dies.  But it's all good because 'He's male, and must be made right.'

Remind anyone else of that bit from Captain Mal?
Sure as I know anything, I know this - they will try again. Maybe on another world, maybe on this very ground swept clean. A year from now, ten? They'll swing back to the belief that they can make people... better.