In our home, tea parties and royal balls are the norm. Everyday attire includes jeweled tiaras, ruffled tutus and fabulous sunglasses.

And wherever you turn within our four walls, pink kind of slaps you in the face: We have cotton-candy- colored clothes, fuchsia- hued furniture and salmon- shaded toys. Pink is everywhere.

My husband and I have three daughters, ages 9, 7 and 3. When we go out as a family, our little ones regularly draw friendly stares and conversations from people who wonder about their ethnicity (Filipino and Swedish), ages and personalities. They ask us what it’s like raising a trio of girls.

Then there’s that one inevitable question — from polite strangers at restaurants to aggressive aunties at family functions — I’ve come to dread. It usually goes something like: “So, are you going to try for a boy?”

I understand why people ask; often they’re genuinely curious.

But I’ve heard that question so many times since having my first daughter nearly a decade ago. Honestly, I’ve grown a tad irritated whenever the topic comes up.

First, that’s not even a real choice. Yes, I could try to have another baby. But no, I can’t choose for it to be a boy. If I could, I would have had one by now.

Second, that’s not even a real choice. “Oh, I don’t know … we’ll see,” I typically reply, wondering if they can see through my forced smile and fake laugh.

What makes me feel even worse is when others suggest our family isn’t complete without a son.

It’s a sensitive subject for me. When I was younger, I wanted just sons. Six of them — a totally random number. I loved the idea of having a brood of boys, raising them to be strong and protective of me.

After getting married, I yearned even more to have a son, a miniature version of my amazing husband. Someone who would inherit his wonderful masculine qualities and who could carry on our family name.

Whenever I see pictures on Facebook or Instagram of family and friends with their sons — especially newborns with their handsome little faces — my heart does ache a bit.

I’m nearing 40 years old. Physically, my health and energy level aren’t the same as when I first became a mother. Financially, a fourth child would mean having to make major cuts in our living expenses and sacrifices to our lifestyle.

It’s hard, imagining how awesome it would be to mother a little boy and knowing at this point in my life it will most likely not happen. But what good would it do my soul to let my mind wander there?

So I don’t.

I am grateful every day for my three healthy, happy daughters. They bring me more joy (and anxiety) than I have ever dreamed possible.

My husband, fortunately, is thrilled and fulfilled with his four adoring girls — counting me, too, of course.

My heart is full and my family of five is complete.

Besides, I love living in a world of grand palaces, warrior princesses and magical ponies.

And I really, really love the color pink.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Email Zenaida Serrano at zserrano@staradvertiser.com.