On having a daughter

I don't know if I've said this here before or not, but I never thought I'd have a daughter. I was convinced that I would only have boys for whatever reason. When I first found out I was pregnant with Will, I thought briefly that maybe it was a girl since my sister had just had Annabeth but that quickly gave way to certainty that the baby was in fact a boy. I would have been completely shocked if the ultrasound tech would've told us he was a girl but as we all know, my feeling panned out for me. Sometime before finding out that he was in fact a he, I dreamed that the baby was a boy, a little boy with blond hair sitting on our green couch. And that's been a sight I've seen now for a bit more than three years.

But this time around, it was so different. I truly didn't have a feeling one way or another for the longest time and when I had the "feeling" I wasn't entirely convinced. During the early weeks of this  second gestation, I was constantly sick. Never before and never since have I felt that wretched for that long a period of time. The desire to claw my eyeballs out was never stronger. When I considered that this may mean (especially if you're big on the old wives' tales) that the new baby could be a girl, I couldn't wrap my brain around this idea since I'd long ago convinced myself that my future involved lots of dirt and sweat and trucks and wrestling and a bizarre inability to sit still for more than three seconds at a time.

Somewhere along the way I began to consider a daughter a real possibility. This sounds really strange, I'll be the very first to admit, but the real knowing (insofar as "knowing" is possible, I guess) came as I was driving back from Walmart (how have my last few posts mentioned Walmart, a place I truly detest?).  I was sitting at a red light and from then on, I really did think that she was in fact a she. There was still a nagging voice saying that it wasn't possible, that the future I'd created in my head was the more likely scenario, but I began to think more in terms of girl than boy.

And on my 31st birthday, in a darkened room with her big brother bouncing exuberantly on the scales, I looked up at just the moment she froze the shot of a little bum, two legs and a distinct lack of boy parts on the screen. The lady didn't have to tell me, but she said something along the lines of "Well, it couldn't be more obvious. That's a little girl." (Jamison thought for sure with her choice of words that it was another boy but I already had my sneaking suspicion confirmed.) A little girl.

And while I wondered for a time what a girl would mean to us, what our daily lives would be like with a little less testosterone around, I can say unequivocally that I wouldn't want it any other way. (Which, truth be told, I would be saying if we'd had another boy. But still.)

Laura has been, since the first second I laid eyes on her, exactly what we needed. She's tiny and sweet and a wee bit feisty (I'd expect no less). She tends toward the finicky (no bottles or pacifiers for her, thank you very much) and likes someone in her sight at all times,  preferably talking or singing to her. She doesn't like her legs swaddled but delights in having her diaper changed (I know!).

She looks so, so much like Will but is so very different, too. Her hair is darker, her eyelashes thicker. Her fingernails are so dainty and feminine. Her smile takes over her whole face. She coos and sings and is most likely the sweetest baby ever born.

Since she's very probably our last baby, I try to really look at her, to really remember what this is like. Will got to be my first everything, and she'll get to be my last. There's a neat little bit of symmetry to that.

I used to hold Will in the dark after he'd finished eating and imagine how someday he'll get married and leave. I don't do that now. Instead, I put Laura down so I can look at her.

While she sleeps, I study her. The curl of her eyelashes, the curve of her plump delicious little cheek. The way her little pink lips part as she heaves a little sigh. The dimple in her chin that reminds me of her big brother but that also remains entirely hers.

And instead of thinking of her leaving us someday, I think of how fleeting this time is. The being up, the sleeping in our room, it won't last forever. But for now, all I want is this.

The curl of her eyelashes, the curve of her plump delicious little cheek. It's all right here beside me.