Not Just a Baby
Almost everyone comments on her being a girl. Significant because she has three brothers, because everyone is supposed to want at least one of each, and because, well, girls are…so great. People have me dancing around singing “Thank Heaven, for Little Girls!”
And it’s not just that we have a girl, we have the girl, as in, “You finally got the girl you wanted.” This yields a blank stare from me. I’ve don’t know what it is to “try for a girl” or “hope for a girl” or “keep going until you get a girl.” It seems like a foreign concept. When the nurses all asked, “Were you trying for a girl?” I just shrugged and replied, “No, I was just trying to have fun.”
Father of the Girl
Maybe it’s the years of infertility, or the detachment I feel from the whole gestation process, or the hidden nature of pregnancy (exactly what’s going on in there anyway?), but I don’t feel like it’s my job to be in there, even with my heart and hopes. The father is really there to catch whatever comes out and deal with it. Make it happen. Wipe. Feed. Load the car. Make sure the train stays on the tracks. It’s not a place for micro-managing, or wrestling with the gods, or molding flesh from clay. Fathers just wash their hands and stay on the sidelines and hold the camera. (Whatever did fathers do before cameras? Can you imagine the maternity ward in the ancient world? Antiachus says, “Philip, did you know you had a boy?” “Really, that’s great, pass around the wine and let’s drink to that.”)
What the Girl Means
I confess not to really experiencing much of a difference so far. She seems more baby than girl, responding much like the boys did at her age. (In, sleep, out, repeat.) If people pick up on this vibe, they offer another predictable response: “You just wait, she will have you wrapped around her finger (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).” “Really?” I think. “So I can look forward to a good 20+ years of manipulation and giving in?” We will see. I’m still trying to figure this out.
Whatever being a girl means, it certainly means something to other girls. When you have a boy, even the most favorable responses seem something like a high five, or a friendly pat on the butt. “That’s great!” they say. “Boys are great. I have a friend who has boys and she’s doing just fine with it.” But when a woman finds out you had a girl, she lights up like a Christmas tree and glows like she might become pregnant at the mere thought of it all. “Oooooooh. That’s so special. You are truly blessed. I’m so happy for you…. (gush, gush…).” It’s like announcing that your parents and grandparents just got saved on the same day.
Staring at the Girl
So between changes, feedings, dishes, and playing taxi, I get a few precious moments to look at her face and peek into her eyes and wonder exactly what it’s like to be the girl. And while I’m figuring it out, I’ll have the busy boys to keep me on my toes, and ask questions like TJ did, “Why doesn’t GG have penis?” “Because she’s a girl,” I say, “and girls do not need them.”