I was reading how Maureen at Tatterscoops used to dream of pink bows, and it struck a chord with me.
Before I became pregnant and then when I found out I was, I dreamed of a baby girl. I couldn’t wait to get frilly dresses and cute outfits. I was thrilled about having a little girl to dress in those cute clothes.
I’m not really a girly-girl, but I was so thrilled about naming a baby after my mother, and baby girl clothes are just so freaking cute. And I do love pink. My husband (at the time) was a man’s man, and decided he’d be “cursed” with girls because of the way he treats women. But he started to get used to the idea.
When I went in to my sonogram, things weren’t really going well for me. My husband was doing everything he could think of to keep the marriage from failing, but everything he did pushed me further away. (Dude, seriously, when someone asks for space, don’t smother them MORE.)
I was on the sonogram table, naked from the waist down, already making plans to walk away from my marriage and pretty disgusted by my husband, and he’s stroking my (unshaven) legs and telling me I’m sexy. Not. Helpful.
And then we saw the sonogram.
I was thrilled to see my baby. Her heart was beating strong. Her hands were perfect. Her spine. Her penis.
Oh. We’re having a boy.
My eyes welled up. It was just one more thing going wrong.
We waited and waited for the printouts. I got dressed and started walking to my car.
On the way to my car, my husband calls me to tell me that his parents had invited us over for dinner. (Because he had immediately called them, of course.) I said no, but he could go. But he wanted to spend the evening with me (see above re: smothering).
I got to my car and I began to sob.
I texted a few people. The BFF, The Writer, and my good friend Sue. I said I knew I’d be OK in about 8 hours, but I needed to mourn the baby girl I’d expected.
Sue and I had a funny exchange about my second husband giving me a girl, which made me laugh. The Writer sent me some comforting words.
I was miserable…but within about 6 hours, I was over it. I was OK with having a boy, if not super excited.
I never really connected with Smiley while he was in the womb. He was always “the baby,” although other people used the name we had picked out. I couldn’t ever really use it.
But the minute I heard his cry in the delivery room, I fell in love. I couldn’t imagine not loving him.
And now, I can’t imagine my life any different.
I love him so much that at times my heart seems like it will burst.
When I found out I was having a boy, I had no idea what I would do with him. Boys are so “different.” So physical. But I find that I love the horseplay. I love rolling around on the floor and wrestling with him. I love chasing him and playing hide-and-seek. I love how he climbs all over me, and it’s wonderful to sneak in hugs and kisses while he’s doing that.
I’m learning about the differences between combines and tractors. (Sort of.) I’m learning about airplanes and fire engines and cars. What he’s excited about, I’ll learn about, to encourage him to learn.
And now, when I think about having another baby (one day, I hope), sure, I’d love to have a little girl, but my boy is so much fun, I would be perfectly happy with another one.
Man, I love that kid.