Boy Mom. For eighteen months or so, I delighted in all things boy. I found Elijah so delightful, in fact, that I had basically decided that I was meant to be the parent of a boy. Or boys. After all, my sister-in-law has two girls, so logically, we would have two boys. (Okay, that is actually not at all logical, and certainly not mathematical, but it's what I thought.) Then, in a surprise (to us) move, we decided at our first second-time-around ultrasound to find out our baby's gender, and surprise! "it" became "she". Excited though I was, I also felt uncertain. After all, I knew at least a little about being a "boy mom". This was uncharted territory. Well, not completely uncharted, but still, it felt new. This was also coupled with the feeling, apparently common, that I didn't know how I could ever love any child as much as I loved my first-born.
Isabel is six months old now, and of course, all of my fears were unfounded. Isabel is the light of my life, just as Elijah is. My universe is lit twice as brightly as before, and this time the clothes are way cuter. In fact, when I went to pick out her Easter dress, which looks a bit like a cloud with a baby inside, I didn't even buy a new outfit for Elijah because TJMaxx wasn't offering anything that he didn't already have. As I stood in line with my cotton candy on a hanger, it was clear to me that I love being a Girl Mom. There's no guarantee that Isabel will share my love of crafts or want to participate in a mother-daughter book club or call me every day even when we have nothing new to talk about, but the possibilities are there. I can't say I look forward to the rocky road that is female adolescence, but I can always call Aunt Sarah and ask for advice if the Iz gets a little rebellious.
These days, though, Izzy is all sugar and hardly any spice, and for that is XXtra nice.
(Sorry. I couldn't help that last part. Feel free to blame my Grandpa Ron, punster extraordinaire.)