Warning: the following contains many gender stereotypes that, in the case of my kids, happen to be true.
I never thought I wanted to have a girl.
When I thought about having more kids, I automatically thought “boy.” I knew what that was like: fun, energetic, lots of baseball and nerdy young adult fantasy novels with dragons and magic… what more could I want?
When the thought of having a girl entered my mind, I didn’t think those things wouldn’t exist in our relationship, it’s just that the good things were clouded by the “bad” things: hormones, dating, mother/daughter relationships and the accompanying therapy bills, and, perhaps the worse: JUNIOR HIGH.
I still have those fears for and about my daughter, Rachel. But the fact that she is the loveliest, toughest, most spectacular, Unicorn-loving, princess-dress-wearing, tool-box-toting little girl I have ever known manages to push those thoughts all the way to the back of my brain, where they will stay until approximately 2023.
I know from having already raised one child to the ripe old age of 16 (and counting!) that many adventures lie ahead for Rachel and me. Until about age 10/11ish, kids adore spending time with their parents. Even a trip to the grocery store is a treat. Yesterday I got a thrill of excitement at the foreshadowing of things come….
Andy had a few free hours to be at home with Aaron, so Rachel and I decided we would have a Beanie-Mama day.
First stop: Rubio’s. Lovely time, decent food. Rachel got complimented for her general cuteness and pink and sparkly cowgirl boots.
Second stop: Joanne. [don’t you hate that the name isn’t possessive?]
It was here, at the crafting superstore, that the “I Have a Daughter Now” thrill hit me.
We walked through the doors and Rachel just went to pieces. She could not contain her excitement as she stared at the rows and rows of fabric, 70% off St. Patrick’s Day decorations, and pastel Easter things lining the front aisle. I could barely corral her little trembling-with-joy self into the cart.
We went up and down, looking at the abundance of shiny, sparkling, flowery, downright crafty things, and she touched everything I would let her put her hands on. We made two trips down the fake-flower aisle so she could be absolutely certain she had touched each and every satiny petal. When we got to the sticker/marker/glitter/Play-Doh/stationary section, I remembered that Andy had to make it to work some time in the next decade so I sternly told myself “no,” and pushed the cart over to the dowel rods, which I actually needed to buy.
I texted Andy: “When do we need to be home?” But I knew that no matter how much time we had, it could never be enough.
Oh, oh, oh the fun we will have.