I, like many other little girls, grew of with a fantasy of one day becoming a mommy myself. That fantasy played out with my dolls who were all, without fail, girls. I had a sister, and on one side of my family only female cousins. I envisioned my future of daughters and tea parties and party dresses.
Then along came Son #1 whom I was positive was a girl until he was about 6 minutes old and the doctor told me AGAIN that he was a boy. A BOY? How had I ever had a boy? But I had and he was perfectly amazing. Apparently I would have a son.
A few months later we started the adoption process. Our homestudy said we were open to any gender, but secretly I believed that if we were adopting two children at once, chances were at least ONE of them would be a girl. And 18 months later Greg and Eric, two definite boys joined our family. And they were perfectly amazing. Apparently I would have 3 sons.
9 months later I discovered I was pregnant. "God knew how much I always dreamed of a daughter" I thought, "and THIS is how she will arrive". 37 weeks after conception, son #4, our precious Caden arrived.
I loved being a mother of sons. I loved how they played together and loved how they all fell in love with their mommy. I loved the wrestling and the noise and the hockey practices and even the dirt and farts and all the rough and tumble that goes with a house full of boys. I loved it more than I had even dreamed possible.
But that secret part of my heart missed that little girl. And I begged God to take away my desire for a daughter because it hurt too much. I knew we were done. I dared dream when Jazzy was in our family, but in the end losing her hurt even more because I had dared to dream of tea parties and weddings and playing with make up and a future with a little girl, and then one day she was just gone and I was again daughterless.
I did not WANT to want a daughter. I did not want to feel that ache and that absence. I prayed, I cried, I tried desperately to "get over it". We weren't adopting again. We weren't fostering again. We most certainly not having another biological baby again. I was the very proud mother of four sons, and had been the "for a while" mom of a daughter that was gone. I wanted, desperately, for that to be enough.
And along came the girls who became my daughters. Unexpected. Unplanned. And a far greater blessing than I had ever even dared to dream of. TWO daughters. Two.
Raising babies is raising babies. Girls pee and poop and need clean clothes and want breakfast and supper just like boys do. They play and are noisy and break my things and throw up in the car and spill their milk just like boys do.
And there are moments that take my breath away that are possibly more precious now than I would have ever known if my heart's desire had been granted back when I thought it should be. Like putting a ribbon in a pony tail on a Sunday Morning. Smoothing lip gloss on pursed upturned lips who want to be just like mommy. Painting toe nails and lacy tights. The little things that add up to a full heart.
And then there are the big things. The dreams I never dared speak out loud because to hear them fall on deaf ears would hurt more than having never spoken them. I was married in a (circa 1994) wedding dress. Large, fluffy, long and to me, at that moment, the fulfillment of all my little girl, teenage obsessed wedding fantasies.