“So when are you going to try for a little girl?” I am asked this question on a regular basis and I haven’t even had my second baby yet. I often just look at the person posing the question as if their head is on fire before answering “This is it, I am done and two boys is enough for me”. I find it truly unbelievable how easy it is for others to design your family and then give you multiple reasons why you should listen to their suggestions and this advice is often unsolicited and might I add “unwanted”. The irony of all of this is that more often than not, most of these advice-friendly people don’t have children of their own, but they are more than happy to fill up your household and empty your pockets in the process. What is even more absurd is that in the midst of this chaos I call life, when I am alone and not of sane mind, I give significant ponderance to these questions. “Maybe I would like to have a daughter too?”
Despite all this speculation and suggestions, we all know that we have no way of knowing what the sex of a future child may be. I am aware that there are numerous products and gadgets that profess the ability to assist in determining the gender of your child prior to conception, but the results are dismal (just like quick weight-loss products). I try to maintain some semblance of sanity by grounding myself in reality. I often say to myself during these moments of speculation, “Hey self, you don’t even have two children yet so what the heck are doing thinking about a third even if it is a cute little girl dressed in pink ribbons and bows?” Of course when you imagine having something you only see the positive aspects. However, I am not really sure why I indulge myself with these thoughts because all of my reasons for wanting a little girl are very superficial in nature. You know, a cute little mini-me to parade around for the entire world to admire. In these dreams the little girl has a mouth but it doesn’t work which makes her even more attractive.
These thoughts are often manifested while I am tending to a fresh bite wound from my teething son or after I have been head-butted almost into a state of unconsciousness. I know that certain personality traits are innate to little boys and little girls and sometimes I would like to not have my hair pulled, eye poked or body used as a ladder to climb over the couch or bed. I think ahead to my inevitable future which will entail receiving presents of little bugs from my boys or continuously discouraging them from using the restroom in our garden and I wonder if things might be a little easier with a calm sweet little girl to even things out. I think of how my son loves to stand on my legs, chest or shoulders (whichever body part is nearest) and bounce up and down. I also remind myself that he loves to fearlessly throw himself backwards when sitting on my shoulders and spit anything and everything that goes into his mouth out in a spray onto my face, clothes or hands. Now I pride myself on being a tomboy but sometimes these interactions are rough even for me. I often have to go to work with battle scars and bruises just from playing with my little boy and these interactions will only multiply with the arrival of my second son.
However, I am not too naïve to believe that having a little girl doesn’t come with its own allocated problems. All I have to do is think of the fights that will stem from combing that little girl’s hair on a daily basis and the torture I felt that I endured as a young child with this process. I think of pedicures and boyfriends and heartbreak and moodiness and then I feel grateful for my boys again. I have come to the realization that your children are blessings and you are never given more than you can handle, even thought it doesn’t always seem to be the case. We should all remember that having children shouldn’t be based on completing a checklist of requirements, but on wanting a healthy and loving extension of your family even if they do bite and spit). I just remind myself on a daily basis that I am the only queen of my castle. It is a testosterone laden castle that is equipped with elevated toilet seats, boys walking around in boxers and pampers, tennis shoes tossed everywhere, sports paraphernalia and most importantly an unrelenting love for the queen (that’s me if you hadn’t realized) by all of its inhabitants. So I will wear my battle scars and crown proudly as Queen LaTrice, head-butting mama extraordinaire!
