Pink or Blue

When I was pregnant with Lucy I was absoultely, positively sure I was having a boy. I had never even fathomed having a girl. I wasn’t girlie, in fact, as a kid I was made fun of because I was so boyish. I specifically remember getting laughed off the school bus because I said I wanted to be a boy so I could play in the NBA. I was cursed from that moment on. Well, until I grew some boobs, that is. After that, most people forgot about the whole “wanting to be a boy” thing.

I was so afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl. That she’d hate me, as all daughters hate their mothers at one point or another, and that she’d be a total daddy’s girl. That she’d have my screwed up teeth and un-tanned skin and would blame all of her insecurities on me. Turns out, she does have my smile and my skin, and I’ve never seen such a beautiful baby. Having this little girl, and seeing myself reflected in her, has made me see myself much more clearly. Because if something on her is beautiful, and that something came from me, well, it must be beautiful on me as well.

Today one of my best friends in the world is finding out if she’ll be buying pink or blue bedding for her nursery. She is absolutely sure it is a boy, but I’ve warned her not to get too excited either way. No matter what, she will adore this little thing, who will probably walk and talk and look like her. And she’ll see herself in a whole new light. As they say, nothing is more beautiful than a happy mother.