Immediately before I started writing this post, I was on Pinterest to look up nursery ideas for our new baby GIRL.  I wanted ideas for her nursery.  As I saved my first pin, I noticed that “Baby Girl Devens” was already a board on my profile.  I had forgotten that years ago I had been searching for ideas for the possibility of a girl.  Funny enough, while I did want a girl-you can read that blog here-I REALLY wanted a boy for my husband.  His want for a boy outweighed my girl and I wanted him to be happy.  Plus, I’d have another chance.

This go round, I just couldn’t hide it.  I REALLY wanted a girl.  I know some people don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, and maybe this makes me a bad person, but I wanted a girl and there isn’t a thing I could do to change that.  I have spent the past few months telling myself that another boy would be fine.  I love my son more than I could possibly describe.  Brothers would be so special.  Two boys dressed as knights and slaying dragons and building Legos is a world I could imagine with love.  

Some people like saying “as long as it’s healthy”.  Well, DUH.  Duh, I want a healthy baby.  I want a healthy baby girl.  It isn’t like I could shut off my “girl preference”.  I didn’t want an unhealthy girl over a healthy boy.  Like I need to be reminded that I should prefer a healthy child over a female child.  *insert hormonal eye roll here*

So like I said,  I’ve been working so hard the past few months on imagining my world with two boys.  Lots of moms have two boys and I know that if I had two boys, I would think that it was the way it should be.  I wouldn’t be able to imagine my life without the two boys, but when you’re imagining two versions of a life and one includes taking your daughter to the American Girl store and dressing up like Disney princesses and having tea parties, it is pretty difficult to not have a preference.

This morning, as my husband drove us to the doctor, I got nervous.  I hadn’t been nervous like this yet.  The girl feelings intensified.  I felt so bad for our second son that his mama had told so many people she wanted him to be a girl.  I knew I would love him just as much as Jack, but just the fact that in that moment, I didn’t want this imaginary boy as much consumed me with anxious guilt.  I think the roles had reversed.  My husband finally saw how deeply I wanted my girl.  He wanted a girl for his own sake.  I don’t think he would have known what to do if they had said boy.

Only twenty minutes later and there she was.  Three little lines.  GIRL.  Pure relief rushed over me.  Guilt and relief and hormones had me sobbing.  The sonographer had to wait a moment for me to stop shaking so she could take some measurements.  My healthy baby girl.  I still felt bad for this little boy who doesn’t exist.  Maybe he will exist some day.  Now that I have my girl, I can honestly say that I have zero preference as to what a third child would be-IF it would be.

I’m writing this so that one day, our girl can know how badly I wanted her-but also-because I don’t think many people say out loud that they actually do care.  I know many genuinely don’t care because I didn’t with Jack and if we have a third, I won’t.  Sometimes, though, people DO care and that is OKAY!  I have friends who wanted one and got another-and ALL of them (of course) ended up very happy.  I know I would have ended up happy once I met a baby boy, but those initial feelings are very real-and uncontrollable.  Just as we teach our children, you can’t control your feelings, only your behavior.

Jack has taught me so much about boy things already.  I know most of the super heroes, even by their legal names.  I play Power Rangers.  I am a fire breathing dragon and a Decepticon.  I am proud of my boy and always willing to get my hands dirty to play with him.  We get in space ships and pirate ships and airplanes and choo choos.  We cut off each others arms and legs and heads.  It  is so much fun getting to play a part in his imagination and see things from his eyes.  All that and still-I can’t wait to be a princess.