brilliance elsewhere

13Aug08

http://www.mychickencheese.com/2008/08/13/getting-the-girl/

Wow. I hope the author doesn’t mind my linking… but this post is flat-out brilliant. So well spoken, so effectively speaking to a fear and worry that’s lurked in my own mind since 2.12.08.

I spent my pregnancy convinced that I was carrying a boy. To be honest, I thought that was what my husband and I both wanted: he for the possibility of passing on his love of football, me for the undying, sappy devotion I’d seen little boys display to their mothers. I’m greedy like that.

I was afraid of having a girl. As the linked post much more eloquently states: girls have it rough. I am a girl, I’m aware. I pushed all thoughts of a baby girl out of my mind, unable to deal with the thought.

And then delivery day came. Tears in eyes, my husband said, “It’s a girl… Madeline.” And all thoughts of “I can’t” fell from my mind immediately - we had a girl, a beautiful, healthy girl. She was big and robust and screaming. I’d never been more grateful.

We texted our friends and family right from the recovery room, and immediately gender became her defining point. The next day mountains of pink arrived at our hospital room, and I loved it all. I loved the girliness, the sweet frills and lace, the soft colors. I was thrilled to have a girl.

She continues to wear many dresses, and she has so much pink that she will surely hate it by the time she’s three. I worry that I’ve begun to define her role too closely, that I’ve allowed others to pigeonhole her exclusively into the label of GIRL. So I buy her some blue; her Aunt Laura buys her airplanes and clothes with blue airplanes, even camoflauge. It all screams BOY, but why?

So I will buy her some trucks to play with, and I’m sure this fall she’ll have her first football. She loves to sit on Daddy’s lap and watch games. I’ve made him promise that he will play sports with her, teach her all the rules of the games that I never knew.

I want her to grow up strong, assertive. I want her to laugh when people call her a bitch, know that it’s a compliment, a sign that she’s stepping out of the box. I want her voice to be loud, and clear – a voice that freely says NO. I want her to be safe and well-paid. I want her to survive her teenage years with her dignity and integrity intact.

I want all these things for her, and so much more. I hold her in my arms and I feel the weight of her life, the rainbow of possibilities before her… I want the full spectrum to be available, not just the pink and the purple.

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Filed under: parenting, pregnancy   |  1 Comment