No one ever admits that they want a girl or a boy. While I was pregnant people would constantly ask me if I had a preference. I would always answer (just like most people do) that I just wanted the baby to healthy; ten fingers, ten toes, you know the drill. What I was really wanted to say was, “I just want the baby to be a healthy girl.”
One year ago, we found out Emerald (which is what we started calling Baby M before we knew the sex) was a boy. We really couldn’t continue to call a baby boy Emerald, which then lead to the nickname Baby M. Let me clarify that we were never naming our child, if he was a she, Emerald. We had girl names picked out and I so desperately wanted to use one.
When we found out Emerald was a boy, my husband looked at me and asked if I was disappointed. Of course I said no, but I was secretly devastated on the inside. We excitedly told everyone we were having a boy by posting pictures and making phone calls, but I was holding back tears because I really, really wanted a girl. I wanted to dress her up in puffy dresses that she couldn’t move in, with tights and Mary Janes. I wanted her to wear ridiculously big bows and pierce her ears as soon as I could.
Every time we went back for another ultra sound I would ask the technician if Baby M was still a boy. They would say yes, and I would smile and say, “Good.” I kept having dreams that we were still having a girl. I was convinced that we were going to be a part of one of those crazy stories. The ones where a newborn girl ends up wearing tons of blue clothes for the first few months of their life because her parents were told she was a he.
Then Jimmie was born. And he was real. He really wasn’t a she. And of course I loved him because he was mine, but until that very moment, I was still holding onto an ounce of hope that everyone was wrong except me. One day, I looked at him and he looked at me, and I thought to myself, “Thank God you’re a boy.” Jimmie is everything I never knew I always wanted. And I know that is so cliche to say, but it’s true. I always wanted to be a mom. But I always wanted to be a mom to a girl. I’m a girl, I know how to be a girl, therefore raising a girl seemed like the way to go. But boy oh boy, Jimmie is such a joy. I can see the love in his eyes when he looks at me. I cry almost every time he laughs. His coy smiles make me want to squeeze him so tight and give him a million kisses. I dread the day when he stops letting me kiss him on the lips or doesn’t want to lay his head on my shoulder anymore. I tear up thinking about giving him away at his wedding and having him love another woman other than me.
Having a little boy is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I didn’t love the idea at first, heck I didn’t even like it. But dressing my little boy up like a little man is even more fun than putting a girl in a dress that she can’t roll around in. Who needs bows when I have cute little gentleman hats and who needs baby Mary Janes when I can just let him wear socks.
I can’t wait to take Jimmie to extra inning baseball games, take him on train rides, and let him play in the dirt. I can’t wait to make mud pies, throw a football around, and read about bugs. I am beyond thrilled to be raising a boy who will turn into a man. I am one lucky momma to one perfect little boy. I wanted a girl, but what God gave me was even better. God gave me the sweetest little boy that was meant to be mine.