Pink Squared: IT’S A GIRL!

Just a little more than a month ago, the time arrived at last. The time to duck into an unassuming hole-in-the-wall called Before the Stork in Costa Mesa, right next to the diviest dance bar, the dear Pierce Street Annex. Before the Stork is a small ultrasound center that prides itself in affordable, accurate gender reveals, and I always laugh that it’s right next to PSA. It feels like the ultimate in once-upon-a-time memories colliding with fresh-and-new. I love that in the same 100 square yards, I have danced away many a night in a shady venue and also learned the sex of my kids. It feels wrong and right in the very best way. Life experience comes in all kinds of forms.

Sure, with both pregnancies, I could’ve waited until my 20-week anatomy scan at my legitimate OB-GYN office. But who wants to wait 20 weeks?! Fourteen flat and I was scheduled with the folks at Before the Stork to discover my news: PINK or BLUE??!!

On the drive over, our conversation went exactly like this:

Doug: “So, really. You must have a feeling one way or the other. What do you think we’re having?!”

Me: “I think it’s a boy! I really do. And then we’ll be done. A boy and a girl. The perfect little fam!”

Doug: “Aww, I think so, too! I really do! I’m pretty sure we’re having a son. I seriously can’t wait.”

Now, as I’ve mentioned before, the number of kids I want changes constantly and dramatically. But I must say this: Pregnancy is not the time for me to make this final decision. I recently wrote about just how miserable pregnancy makes me. I am literally worthless for months. I am tired. I am gargantuan. I am puking. I’m really a BLAST, you might say!

So if you ask me how many kids I want during pregnancy, I will likely tell you that this is the very last one. I’m not doing this again. You can’t make me. Pregnancy is the meanest thing God ever did. Nope, no more kids after this!!!!

But that may or may not be true. Some days I just want 2; other days I kind of want 4. The truth is, I really don’t know, and amnesia can be a powerful thing. So we’ll see. I have no idea.

Back to Before the Stork, though. I truly thought we were having a boy. And when my closest friends asked me what I was hoping for, I told them I wanted a boy, mostly because Pregnant Stephanie for the most part never wants to do this again. And, I thought, a girl and a boy sum up the perfect family. One of each. Awww! So darling! I even had my boy name nailed, while I’m still on the fence for our girl. I was having all the bluest of feelings, and Doug was, too.

So there I lay, gripping Doug’s hand, staring ahead into the darkened room at the massive movie screen, the ultrasound jelly warm on my stomach as the tech extended her wand and began the search.

The head. The body. The spine. The fingers, the toes, and wow. It will never cease to amaze me just how baby-like little ones look at only 14 weeks. My sweet child, moving and squirming, heart beating, then thumb sucking, writhing and turning. I watched in amazement. Wow.

After a few more minutes, the tech asked in her masseuse-like whisper, “Are you ready? You want to know the gender of your baby?”

Pause.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m ready.”

“You’re having a… BABY… GIRL!!! Look at her, she’s waving at you. Gosh, I bet she’s going to be so beautiful.”

Girl.

Girl.

Girl.

Not a boy. A girl. Another girl.

I waited for the disappointment to set in. I waited to feel like I was losing my dream of having a son. I waited to start groaning that uggggggggh, now we would have to try again for the boy in a few years and I’d have to get sick and fat and miserable alllllllll the despondent heck over again. I waited to worry that I wouldn’t want to give this baby a chance to make me totally giddy, because she was all the wrong gender and would never throw the football with Dad.

But in absolute, truthful, pure honesty, I didn’t feel any of that. I would tell you if I did, because I think it’s more than OK to feel disappointed if you were really hoping for a specific gender. But I didn’t feel bummed, not even a fraction of an ounce. Instead, what washed over me was an overwhelming sense of excitement and peace.

I was having a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A sister for Emerson.

Another shopping buddy.

Tea parties.

Sleepovers, makeovers, proms.

Toilet papering.

Another excuse to attend all the best boy band concerts in the mid 2020s.

Another small woman to shape.

Another best friend for life.

What an absolute honor.

Wait, DOUG! I was still squeezing his hand with a mighty force, but had forgotten all about how he might take this. He really, really wanted a son. I think most men do. Someone to teach all the sports, someone to carry the name. And Doug was such a wonderful MAN; he’d be such a great dad to boys. My heart felt for my husband’s letdown as I looked his way.

He had a tear of joy on his cheek.

“Another daughter,” he said, wiping his face. “I’m going to walk two girls down the aisle someday. It’s going to be REALLY hard to give them away.”

He’s also the BEST dad to girls.

We sat there for a while in wonder together, watching our baby girl wiggle and kick and cross and uncross her itty-bitty legs. We both felt so utterly happy. For now, our small family felt complete. Girls can throw footballs, too!

**************************************

Well, that was weeks ago, so I’ve had lots more time to process the fact that we’re having another girl. My family and friends seemed a little worried when I broke the news, like scared I was secretly mourning and wearing all black. They’d lean in close: “How do you feel about that?”

It felt so good to answer honestly, “I am THRILLED, you guys.”

And here are a few more thoughts.

On sisters. My sister, Heather, is two years younger than I am. Girl #2 will be just about that much younger than Emerson. If I really stop to think about how much my sister means to me, I can’t go on without crying. There’s simply no bond like the one you share with a girl who spent time in the same womb. When we went to an annual father-daughter dance as little girls, we’d get ready together, feeling like princesses, radiant when our dad would tell us how beautiful we looked, his “salt and pepper!” When I’d get sad as an angsty teen, she’d spend hours entertaining me with funny dances and faces and hairstyles, anything to make me laugh. When I needed to FREAK OUT with excitement at 2 a.m. the night after Doug first kissed me, I ran into her room and jumped on her bed and she so genuinely shared in my joy. The fact that Emerson will share my experience of having a younger sister… It’s almost too amazing to handle.

On the perfect family. After giving it a LOT more thought, I’ve realized that my image of the “perfect little family” is really quite baseless and silly. I mean, where did I get that? Where do any of us get it? I’ve been thinking about the family of God. Huge, messy, diverse, but beautiful, loving, sanctified. Every one of us His and adored and home.

I’ve also been thinking about some of the most beautiful families I know. My incredible single mom friend who so devotedly mothers her five-year-old boy; I’m always taking notes on good mom-ness in observing her ways. My other dear friend and her husband and their spunky little six-year-old girl, so patiently praying and waiting for an adoption placement after struggling so long to have more of their own. My favorite teacher of absolutely all times, with his gorgeous wife and two kids—then years later TRIPLETS—then one more babe on the end. Six kids, no big, with totally random age gaps. You’ve never seen a prettier family. But I know that their story was filled with struggles, surprises and strength.

These are all families, all so very different and all so very beautiful. I think the only thing needed for a perfect family is God’s perfect love. I feel so great about letting go of my slim definition of goodness and discovering God’s plan for our clan.

On pregnancy. One recent evening, in no unusual occurrence, I was expressing to Doug some precise things that I really despise about pregnancy. But then, I boiled it down to the thing I find the absolute worst.

Douglas, I explained. The very worst thing about pregnancy is that I’m momentarily not myself. Everything I usually like to do, I no longer enjoy. Everything I’m typically good it, I can’t even fake. I normally love to run, read, write, socialize, eat, host, nest, adventure, talk, pray, shop, create, give, laugh, dream. Do you know what I love right now? NOTHING! Except you, babe. And maybe bagels.

Doug was quiet for longer than normal and then he responded. I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you. But, what if you think about it this way? What if the insane process of your body creating a life is requiring all the best parts of you? What if you aren’t feeling lively, adventurous, creative, social and giving because those attributes that God gave you are currently being passed onto your daughter as she’s becoming a human with a soul, mind and body? What if you think of this season as a time when you have to give up the things you love most because that little girl needs them to become who she’s created to be? Think of them as feeding right into her. I mean, really, what an amazing sacrifice. You’re literally pouring yourself into our child. I know it’s hard. I know it hurts. I know it sucks. But dads don’t get to do that. No one else gets to do that. You’re her mom. You’re the only one who gets to do that.

I’m still kind of speechless. Hubs for the win. I will do this and I will do this proudly, as many times as God wants.

I love you so much, baby girl!!!