I’ve had the experience twice of peeing on a stick and watching the blue faded line appear before my eyes. You know the line, the one that changes everything. The one that says “you will not sleep for the next 18 years and you will soon love someone in a way you never thought possible.”
Ya, that line.
When I peed on a stick a few months ago after a missed period, I watched that blue line show up once again, this time completely unexpected. The first two times, that line needed to appear. We had planned for it to appear. This time, I thought my eyes were hoping so badly to see that line that my brain stepped in to play a trick on me.
Nope. No trick. It was there. I stared at it for a very, very long time. Life had just changed, instantly, once again.
My cleaning lady who speaks about 10 words of English was cleaning my kitchen. I ran out with the stick in my hand, announcing that I was pregnant. She touched her tummy, smiled, and repeatedly said “ooohhhh.”
Clearly, a positive pregnancy test is universal. I still smile when I think of that story. Who does that? Who is so excited that they have to tell the first person they see? Me, that’s who; someone who can’t contain excitement very well, apparently.
I told my husband, and after his initial shock and eventual happiness, we started talking about names. And the nursery. And when we should tell our boys. We decided to wait until the end of the first trimester to tell them. We wanted to tell them that they were going to be big brothers after the chance of miscarriage significantly decreased. We wanted to tell them the gender. And that brings me to the point of this blog post.
We are having a girl.
I never thought I would write those words. We have our two beautiful, healthy, wonderful boys, and I just knew that this new little life in me was going to be their little brother.
I was only 29 and 31 when I had my boys, so genetic testing was never really pushed when I was pregnant with them. Now I’m 35 and they highly recommend it. With a new, simple blood draw that has the same accuracy of an amnio, I opted in. We would know whether or not the baby was okay in a matter of weeks. And we would also know the gender.
It’s funny how I found out. It was an email in my inbox with a subject line of “test results.” I clicked on it immediately and saw that the genetic testing all came back negative. This baby was fine. Thank God. And then there it was, the button that said, “Would you like to know the gender of your baby?” (After hearing my cleaning lady story, I’m sure you can guess what I did).
I clicked on the button. “It’s a girl.”
A girl. Those two words were ones I never thought my husband and I would hear. We were parents of boys. We knew all things soccer, bugs, rough housing, mud. We knew nothing of pretty dresses and French braids. Now to put into words what I felt when I read those two words is nearly impossible. Life with my boys has been everything I ever wanted with having kids. They are my life. They put constant smiles on my face with their stories, their silliness, their extraordinary personalities. I imagined that this third boy would be just that, a boy.
I cannot lie that I am one of those women who, before kids, always wanted to have a little girl. When I started having boys, that’s who I became; a mom of boys. And I was fine with that. I am in love with those two little men like you wouldn’t believe. They are my children. I would have welcomed their little brother with excitement and infinite love.
And then their little brother became a little sister.
I wrote a letter to their little sister about a week ago. It begins, “Dear Daughter,” and ends with “Love, Mommy.” I thought momentarily about posting it, but like Hilary and my mom told me, it’s far too personal to share. It’s too full of emotion that should be left between her and me. So I am going to print it out, seal it, and keep it until she is old enough to read and understand it.
For now, I’ll just summarize that letter with the less-intimate details.
When I was eight, I named my daughter. When I was 16, I decided that I would pass all of my bedroom furniture down to her, including the dress stand my great grandfather made for me when I was born. When I had my first son, I figured that the girl I always dreamed of having would be his little sister. When I had my second son, I successfully unimagined her from my life.
And then she became real. In a moment, with a few drops of pee on a stick, she became real. At only 13 weeks, I can already feel her moving in my tummy. The bond has begun. This little girl will have two big brothers to teach her everything they know, and she will receive more love than she will ever know what to do with. We are all excited for the arrival of our little girl and what she will add to our family.
For me, she is a dream come true.