Friday, March 2, 2012. Sunset in Santa Barbara. On a stone wall at the edge of the ocean, we opened an envelope.
A GIRL. Sugar and spice. Pink tutus and sparkly shoes. Or rainbow striped knee socks and purple sneakers. A girl, like me. A girl, probably so unlike me. I was shocked, am still shocked. I couldn’t imagine NOT having a girl in my life. I am a daughter, I am a sister, I am a wife, a best girl friend, a mother. I am layered in the feminine. I couldn’t imagine not sharing the experience of a daughter, the ultimate in complicated relationships.
And yet, I didn’t dare hope for a little girl. I thought, of course, I am a boy mom. I am great at being a boy mom. I know how to talk to little boys, I know how to stand back and let them fall, how to marvel at their bravado and sheer boyness, and how to just let them be. I thought, I am destined to have boys. And that was a good thing.
But wow, a GIRL. All of a sudden, sitting on that stone wall, with my past so close and my present sitting beside me grinning and holding my hand, and the small white card that announced my future, I felt a huge responsibility. I now have to raise a GIRL. Holy crap.