Endings and Beginnings

Today is my last day to be the reigning female in our family. I'm surrounded by testosterone; with a husband and two sons, there is not a fraction of pink in this house. I've only managed to get a little red in the decorating by making sure it's not the primary color. Even our dog is a male. When I go to Target, we immediately bypass the Barbies, Cabbage Patch Dolls, Bratz dolls, and anything else that remotely suggests a girl might like it. Instead we head straight for the dinosaurs (T-Rex Mountain is a big hit in this house), the Legos, and the Lincoln Logs. And after several years of this, I'm starting to think these toys look way more fun than dolls you just dress and pose.

My diaper bags are blue. My own purse is even blue. When we go for walks, we stop to look at the snakes, not the kittens. We quack at the ducks, loudly, trying to scare them, not feed them. When Caiden crashes on his bike, Grayson and I both cheer loudly and swell with pride when he doesn't cry over skinned knees and hands. Getting the boys ready for church consists of deciding between denim or khaki, polo shirt or button-down, the brown shoes or the tennis shoes. Socks are usually white, and hair is quickly combed down. Sometimes, if I'm feeling really prissy, I dress them in matching camo.

I am officially a Boy Mom. And I love it. Who would've guessed? My mom and I were laughing the other day about how I bought floral pillows and a matching afghan to put in the backseat of my first car, so the exterior and interior would flow together better. Seriously. I am terrified of any flying insects, especially crickets and grasshoppers. I abhor lizards and frogs. I don't mow the lawn (although thanks to being the oldest child, I do know how), or light the grill, or poop scoop. I am a Girl. And I am a girl's girl. My husband and sons gave me a tiara with matching scepter for my 30th birthday. It joined two other tiaras I seem to have. (I'm a little embarrassed to admit that one.) I cannot play a single sport; running is the only remotely athletic thing I can do, and I think it's probably because it involves no equipment, teamwork, or keeping score. My idea of an adrenaline rush is to drive through downtown Dallas without my husband. I crochet, read like a fiend, play the piano, and my nightly ritual of taking an hour-long soak in the tub with a diet Coke and book has gotten my husband to rename our water bill the "Bath Bill." Like I said, I'm a girl.

So tomorrow will be an Event for our family. Having a baby is always an event, of course, but this one will change history. We now own a pink dresser, baby bedding with, gasp, flowers and eyelet! Her shelves are decorated with pink frames and bunnies. And her closet is gloriously filled with, not clothes, mind you, but a wardrobe. A very full wardrobe. As well as three additional boxes on the shelf full of more items for her wardrobe. The tiaras have been passed on down to her, as well as a tiny pink cheerleading outfit and butterfly wings. She already has a miniature china teacup set, ready for many tea parties with her bunnies (and brothers, if she's sweet enough to suck them in). My husband spent an untold amount of money last night buying her preemie clothes. Now she has a second wardrobe! He came home swelling with pride, showing me pink outfit after pink outfit. I'm surprised he didn't buy her matching bows (which is okay, since she already has a drawerful). Her diaper bag has pink polka dots; even her diaper rash cream is pink. We are having a Girl.

Glory, glory, hallelujah! I will no longer be the only person with hormones in this house. I will have somebody's ears to pierce, nails to polish, and feet to pedicure. Somebody else will understand why I cry at everything, why I need to "talk it out" when I'm upset, and why I need more than one purse. I'll have someone whose hair I can put in pigtails, who likes pink as much as I do, and who will get excited over Easter dresses.

Now I hear that not all girls are like that. I have several friends whose girls have turned out to be, well, tomboys. I don't know if that's possible for us, since I don't seem to have any tomboy genes whatsoever, but stranger things have happened. On the other side, I've heard that girls are high-maintenance. Little divas who have opinions on what they should wear, get upset over every little thing, and think everything their mothers do is dumb after the age of 10. Hmm, as a matter of fact, I'm feeling a little deja vu there. I remember what I was like growing up, and it's a testimony to my mother's patience that I'm not still grounded for being so sassy.

What I'm excited about, mostly, is not the here and now of having a daughter. I'll admit the idea of dresses and bloomers does get me pretty excited these days, but it's down the road that makes me so excited. I'm going to have a daughter. My mom and I are so close we talk on the phone more than once a day, usually about absolutely nothing anybody else would care about. We give each other gifts nobody else understands. We both scream when bugs fly into us. We cry over the same books, think the same movie stars are gorgeous, and help each other with our wardrobes. (Okay, I'm being generous on that one. One of us helps the other, but I'll leave that to mystery.)

I absolutely adore my little boys. There's something so magical about the mother/son bond. When Caiden reaches up to hold my hand, or tell me my newly pedicured toes are pretty, or that I look perfect when I've gotten dressed for church, my heart swells. I had no idea boys could be so precious.

But for so long, I've wanted to have somebody in our family who is like me. Someone who my boys will adore, someone my husband will absolutely melt over, who will remind the men in my life that there is a God-given difference between boys and girls, that girls are to be cherished and treasured. And one day, as my daughter is about to give birth, I will be able to understand all the tremulous feelings, hopes, and dreams she has for her own daughter. Because we are Girls.