I am one of 3 sisters. You can call us “girly-girls”. Our childhood filled with Barbie dream cars and dance recitals. Lip gloss and high heels.
No soccer balls. No fist fights. We didn’t know from Call of Duty or Monster Jam. Wasn’t our cup of tea. So naturally, when I imagined my life as a mom, I imagined it to be just like me own mom’s. I pictured me and Mike, surrounded by girls with beaming smiles and high pony tails.
I knew Mini was going to be a girl. When the ultrasound tech asked if we wanted to know the sex I said sure, but I already knew. In my heart I felt badly for Mike. Who nodded earnestly, waiting to hear the words “It’s a boy”. Like every father does. But I knew. I was having a girl.
She confirmed my gut instinct and before we knew it our lives became all shades of pink. Her closet was filled with tutus and ruffles. As a young toddler, she joined a dancing school and discovered her passion for watermelon lipsmackers. Just as I knew she would.
And suddenly, we were having another baby. I could see Mike’s hopes rising again. Finally, his boy. But I knew I was going to have another girl. That was my plan. All girls. I pictured sisters. Playing with their dolls, and later on in life gabbing about cute boys. I was so excited to be having another baby. And then I got a call from the doctor. A test I had taken had come back. All good news. Then he asked if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. “Of course”, I replied. In the back of my head I was thinking…oh poor Mike. But then I heard those 3 words.
“It’s a boy”
