I'm raising a wild boy. And it's exactly how I pictured my mothering experience to go - the unkempt hair, the dirt under nails, the Matchbox cars, the jumping off everything, the wrestling with dad on the living room floor, the bug-capturing in the yard, loud & boisterous sounds, tons of energy, the complete inability to be gentle. There's also this special bond between boys and their moms. I can't explain it, it's one of those wonders of the world that surpasses our understanding, but it's there, and it is strong.
In the back of my mind, for as long as I can remember, I've always assumed and imagined that I would be a mother of boys. I'd have a houseful of them - two or three of my own, to be sure. Their rooms would be stinky and they'd cause a lot of trouble. I'm not sure why I pictured it this way. Maybe because I grew up with two younger brothers and all of my best friends for years were boys... it's what I know.
I'm not exactly the poster child for classical femininity and quietness of spirit, either.
Now I'm raising a boy and Rowan was no surprise. My family has boys, it's just what we do. The last girl to be born in my family was 30 years ago, and it was me. So when the ultrasound tech told me I was having a boy 3 years ago, I had already known. I felt it in my bones.
And when you have an idea or assumption, it can scratch it's way into the fibers of your brain and just stay there. Even if you hold that idea with the lightest grip, or even no grip at all, the idea remains. That's how it is for me and being a parent. I have believed that I am a mother of boys.
It's just what I'm made to do.
On Friday morning, I had an ultrasound for this pregnancy and the technician asks, "Would you like to know what you're having?" I blurt out quickly as I look at the screen, trying to study what I see, "Is it a boy?"
Imagine my surprise when she replies with a laugh and says, "It's a baby girl."
I give a wild-eyed, scared-as-hell laugh. Hubster looks at the screen, tilts his head to the side and says, "Huh." I might have thrown out an expletive, I can't really remember (most likely, knowing me).
A girl? We're having a girl?
We're having a girl.
This was not what I had imagined. At all. To be quite honest, the thought of having a girl terrifies me. I'm still getting to the bottom of that emotion and trying to determine why I feel that way, but I sense the fear that she'll turn out just like me. (Don't get me wrong, I'm not really one for self-loathing, but I know my darker side and I wouldn't wish that hellacious firestorm on my worst enemy.)
I'm still wrapping my brain around the reality of it all. Being trusted to parent two children is overwhelming enough, let alone throwing a girl into the mix. I'm getting more excited with each day, but the shock still sets in every time I say "she," when referring to the baby kicking at my insides.
I wonder who she'll become. Will she be creative, adventurous, and wild? Will she be quiet and calm and serene? Will she sleep in like her brother does? Will she be a snuggly baby? All of these unanswered speculations and questions start to bubble to the surface and my heart leaps a bit. I'll get to see it all unfold, firsthand. There's a magical wonder in watching a child become the person they were created to be... in watching the personalities grow.
In the meantime, we wait. I'm enjoying these days with Rowan, soaking in this special time of being just the three of us... letting him revel in being an only child for just a little bit longer.
I'm also letting my vanity run wild. I'm pinning cute girl clothes on Pinterest and planning out how to decorate a mixed-gender bedroom, and did you know that Hunter makes little red rain boots for kids?!
I mean, seriously.
This is going to be fun.