When I was pregnant with my first baby, I wanted a girl because I’m a girl. And that’s what I got. When I was pregnant with my second, I wanted a girl so my first girl could have a sister. And that’s what I got. When I was pregnant with my third, I wanted a girl so I could give those cute Baby Gap and Gymboree girly girl outfits another round of wearing. And that’s what I got. But I have to be honest…somewhere along the line I would have liked to buy a shirt with a truck on it…or some cute plaid overalls…or a baseball cap. But I’ve got girls, and now that they are all three seemingly jumping off the cliff into adolescence at the same time (not sure how that is happening given the 4 year span between the three of them), we could use a little testosterone in our house.
So probably what happened, is that God just figured I couldn’t handle boys. He didn’t think I could handle the mess (though let’s get it straight…my girls can create a mess that will rival ANY household of boys), the dirt/mud/spit/boogers/etc., the accidents/bruises/cuts/scrapes/broken bones, the potty humor, etc…and he was probably right. So when I see a mom of boys, I bow down to her. I know that she has been graced with more patience and tolerance than I have in my left pinky finger…and I also know how lucky she is, because I know those boys have her up on the highest of pedestals, and they always will…no matter how old they are. My girls love me…but those moms of boys, they are in a different category. Those boys think she is the best thing since sliced bread…and there is no doubt about it, she is.