Great sex girls
I'll admit it. When the ultrasound tech found that teeny tiny you-know-what, and declared "It's a boy!" I was a little disappointed. I believed people when they told me how lucky I was, one of each, how complete this made me, that I could "stop right now."
But in truth, I wanted what I knew. I wanted more hair ribbons and doll strollers and playing in mommy's makeup bag. I wanted the three of us girls to have lunch at NYC Bloomingdale's famed 40 Carrots restaurant and pretend that the frozen yogurt was really fat free. I wanted long talks on the phone, making each other promise not to tell the other one that we said anything. I was not ready to be done with pink. I was not ready to be done at all.
Late at night, I would confess on an anonymous mommy message board, "I am afraid to have a son." What did I know about boys, anyway? Just as I was getting good at reading them, I married one. And he does not even follow sports. I have a brother, but he seemed to develop into his own brand of nerd-jock without any help from me. What would I teach a boy, other than to treat his women well and to put the seat down?
When I thought about boys, I thought about mudpies, and dirty socks, and smelly armpits. I thought about broken lamps and roughhousing and leaving for college and never calling home. I thought about him leaving me for his someday mother in law who would probably know how to bake pies and keep a home smelling lemony fresh.
And then he arrived, my boy, three weeks early -- already causing a ruckus. And in those early months I loved him and feared him equally, he was a tiny chicken who needed lots more support than his sturdy sister. He was so delicate, he seemed almost feminine. I did not feel a difference -- not yet.
Then all at once, as his cheeks filled and his legs lost their bow, he became a rosy roly poly GUY. He was gregarious and smiley and a ball of love. He was extremely needy, and returned what you gave him by grabbing fistfuls of hair and kissing you with an open mouth. At six months, he is loud and boisterous, just as I imagined, but he is also sweet and delicious in a manner that literally makes my mouth water when I look at him.
I realized quickly that my expectations based on the sex of my children were unfounded -- sweeping stereotypes and my own projections. As I child, I was uber-girly, a daughter born to a former tomboy who still tells the story of her own amazement when I demanded a canopy bed at five years old. My own daughter has now begun to assert her own interests, and the passive baby who sat still for ruffles and ribbons now declares them "itchy" and "owie" and chose cars over princesses for her Pull-Ups. For Halloween, she wanted to dress as Daddy. And while she still loves having a "lipstick" in her pocket, she is far more exuberant about Thomas the train and his gang. She might be a girl, but she leaves the "sugar" to her brother, while she is the "spice".
I have truly realized that parenthood is all about the joy in the unexpected, the ways that your kids surprise you and force you to let go of all of your great expectations. As I look at my children, I find myself repeating the line that I first uttered about my dear husband: You are everything I never knew I always wanted.
