I’m not gonna make it sound like I didn’t want a girl (I did), but I really was surprised when we got the news. Then I got nervous.
My motherhood-identity to this point has been as a little boy’s mommy. And I’m really comfortable with that. Even more, I love it.
So, excited as I am to welcome our daughter soon, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little afraid.
Our son got a daddy who is happily, patiently, and whole-heartedly teaching him all those must-know man things. And as Conlan grows he’ll continue to learn. They do yard work together. They build stuff. They use tools. They fix cars. They play sports. I’m pretty sure Conlan will be tagging along on mountain-climbing trips before I know it. The kid is set. He’ll make a good man someday.
Meanwhile, I fear that this girl is screwed. I can teach her to cook, sure. But my woman-of-excellence-in-training skills end there. You know the Proverbs 31 wife? Yeah. I’m not her. Sad for my husband. Sad for our daughter.
I can’t teach her to sew. I’m not a good housekeeper. I don’t have a quiet and gentle spirit. This is further evidenced by the fact that I used the word “screwed” in the last paragraph. I’m not girly. I’m not patient.
Oh, dear. But maybe there’s hope for us yet. Maybe this is an opportunity for personal growth for the sake of my daughter. After all, I initially declared that her nursery would not be pink. Now, it is overwhelmingly pink. And girly. And I couldn’t be happier with it.