Category: Dreaming of Mommyhood – General

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Big Boy Bed

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Try to say that three times really fast!

So, last week I took advantage of the Labor Day holiday, which meant my husband was home and could entertain Davey, in order to start work on Davey’s new big boy room. I’ve put it off a lot longer than I did with his first bedroom. I’ve toyed around with ideas on what would be best. Did I want to do a room devoted to Mickey Mouse or did I want to do one with a different Disney theme? Side note…anything Disney rocks this child’s world!

Then I thought of practicality. Did I want to redo a room again in a few years when he’d outgrown some of the kiddie/baby phase? Not really. I needed something easy, something convenient for me, and something that would grow with him. That being said, we quickly decided to avoid a themed bed (he has a racing car bed at his Grammy’s house in NY), just because I didn’t want to fork out the money again for another new bed in a few years. We landed on a contemporary, with a hint of the traditional, full size wooden bed. Bedding can always be changed.

For a month the bed sat in our garage as the days ticked by as we awaited anxiously the ultrasound that would determine whether we were having a boy or a girl, hence dictating which room the bed would actually be placed. After a trip to Rochester to see family, and a quick jaunt to Myrtle Beach to kiss summer goodbye, we began work last week, and I must say so far I’m pleased.

enjoying some quality time on the new bed
enjoying some quality time on the new bed

It’s a nervous arena, being the parent of a child who’s growing, one that you wish would stay your little baby forever. I cried when we converted Davey’s crib into a toddler bed! How the heck was I going to react to this? Truth be told, I was second guessing moving him into another room. First, the nursery is a tad bigger in size than his new bedroom. There’s more closet space, more playroom. Second, what if he became really irate about giving up his room? What if he didn’t want to move? Of course, this hasn’t been the problem and we haven’t even referred to the nursery as Henry’s room.

Finally, with the walls painted, the bed up, and new bedding on top, we decided to let Davey have a “go” at the room on Saturday. Naptime is much more different. No longer do I rock him to sleep. Instead, I say “nap time” and he runs up the stairs (just like he always has) and I tuck him into his bed, give him a kiss, read a book, and then close the door. it takes about a half an hour to 45 minutes of him “talking” to himself or “reading” one of his books to his stuffed animals before he finally goes to sleep. Bed time is much the same, which has become quite shocking to both me and my husband. We both thought we’d have a bigger issue with getting him asleep in the big boy bed.

first official night
first official night

From time to time, I see my little baby in his big bed and I do get a lump in my throat. I love the new stages and his growth and development, but I am super sad to know that one day he may be much too big for that bed.

“Mama Go. I Play.”

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Four simple little words, two sentences, and yet so profound and impactful, at least for me.

Those were the words my son gave to me as I dropped him off at his first day of Mother’s Morning Out, which is a sort of preschool/daycare. He’s not quite two yet, but my husband and I felt that it would be beneficial to all parties involved (me, him, Davey, and the soon to be Henry), to enroll Davey in something that is “his”. I wanted him to have more social interaction with children and less time with me. So, we chose to do it one day a week. It meets for five uninterrupted hours in the day! What a joyous break, or so I thought when I first decided to enroll him.

Monday night, I did my typical “first day” preparations. It’s something I’ve always done the night before my “first day”, whether that be work, school, vacation, community function, you name it. I’m a planner and I need to have things in place and organized. I don’t do well “flying by the seat of my pants”.

As I packed Davey’s new back pack, complete with diapers, wipes, and a change of clothes, I started feeling a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Where was all of my excitement and anticipation from the previous weeks? Why was I starting to think I was making a bad decision? I shook my head for a moment, quickly doing my best to demolish the thoughts from my head, and started working on his lunch. I was nervous and excited. Would I sleep? Would I be able to eat the next morning? And why was this affecting me so badly?

Tuesday morning rolled around. I woke up early, showered, made coffee and ate breakfast. (What was this? My first day? I suppose.) I double checked Davey’s back pack and his lunch box. I made sure to grab his raincoat as it was raining and then debated on just what type of breakfast I would make for my future scholar. After completing all of this, including making sure I had any last minute paperwork completed and in hand, I went upstairs to awaken Davey. Let me make a quick side bar here…It was 7:30 and Davey was still sleeping. My son NEVER sleeps this late, even if we put him to bed later. Could it have been that he knew it was his first day of “school”? Perhaps all children are born with this sort of microchip in their brains that signals when school is starting, therefore encouraging the late sleeping? I don’t know, but I do find it quite fishy.

I dressed my son, fed him his breakfast, combed out his hair, and put his back pack on him. We walked out the door a half an hour before school started (it’s a ten minute drive away, but I loathe tardiness. I detest it. I can’t understand people who are constantly late). As we drove down the road, we sang some nursery rhymes, listened to the news, and briefly discussed Davey’s first day. Did he completely understand the significance of the day? Probably not, but being so important to me, I continued on.

We pulled into the school parking lot. I parked, walked around to the back, and opened Davey’s door. He eagerly put on his backpack, grabbed his lunch box, and held my hand. He commented on the flowers, the color of the door, the stairs, and the pretty bulletin board as we walked down the hall to his room. As per my usual custom, we were the first to arrive. Did I tell you I hate being late? If I instill one good trait in my children, it will be that they’re ALWAYS early, not just on time.

I signed Davey in, got him situated, and walked through everything with one of the teachers. Davey began immediately playing and within a couple of minutes, another child had arrived. I asked Davey for a last hug and kiss. He ran over to me, gave me one of each, and then pushed me out the door with the comment, “Mama go, I play.” Then he ran off! The nerve of him! He didn’t cry! He didn’t seem scared. He seemed perfectly happy and adjusted, so why was this such a difficult moment for me? I am becoming a mother I never thought I would be.

Quietly I closed the door and then lingered for a moment. I peeked through the window, anticipating that Davey would realize I was gone and quickly run to the door screaming, but it never happened. He continued to play. I dropped my head, succumbing to the defeat, and knowing that my child would do quite well.

I choked back my tears until I got in the car, then slowly let them fall. What was I sad about? I should be grateful that my child is so independent, and I am! I should be happy that he’s able to adjust to his environment, and I am! I guess what I’m sad about is the fact that for just today or maybe that one moment, I was not needed. My baby boy isn’t going to be a baby much longer. Sure, I have at least 16 years before he goes off to college, but the past two felt like they’ve flown by. I’m afraid if I blink, the next 16 will be gone as well.

I’ll adjust and truthfully having him gone for five hours allowed me to accomplish so much…3 loads of laundry (all of which needed to be ironed), a clean kitchen, cutting in with paint on his new bedroom, and even a Rotary meeting at lunch. I can only hope, though, that dropping him off will eventually get better.

Thank Goodness for Boys

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I’ve never been a mother to a little girl and it appears I never will be. And you know, I’m ok with that. Not that I think little girls are bad, I just think I’m more suited to be a mother to boys and here’s my list of why.

1. Growing up as a girl, myself, and teaching little girls, there seems to be less drama with boys. I can’t recall my brother ever causing my dad to wait up with his shotgun in hand when he was on a date.
2. Watching last week’s Today Show with One Direction performing only further solidified my happiness with being a mother to boys. I can only imagine what my parents thought when I would squeal at the sight of New Kids on the Block. My head hurts just remembering.
3. Sports, sports, and more sports…more specifically FOOTBALL. I can’t even begin to describe my excitement with the thoughts of Saturday and Sundays sitting in front of a television or at a stadium, with my boys all decked out in our jerseys as we cheer on our teams. Some women look forward to shopping with their daughters. I look forward to the trash talking (all harmless) while we yell at refs, eat our wings and pizza, and celebrate our victories.
4. Clothing is easier. Alright, alright…I know there are exceptions to this rule, but for the most part I don’t foresee my boys spending hours critiquing whether their shoes go with their hairstyle.
5. Finally…having recently shopped for a little girl, I find it to be a lot more fun to buy toys for boys and even to play with them. I’ll take a Transformer any day over a Barbie.

I’ve heard the whole “girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice,” while “boys are made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails,” but I gotta say puppy dog tails are just precious.

I know the good Lord could still at some point give me a daughter, but right now I’m thankful He’s only given me boys. Don’t think this Mama could parent a little girl, at least not well.

Davey’s Songs

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Davey is currently at the age where I should be expecting his vocabulary to increase, which it has, and for him to actually start carrying a tune. I’m not sure if the tune should be something he knows, like a sweet little nursery rhyme, or what I’m currently hearing from him.

It started last week while we were in NY to visit my in-laws. Davey has his own bedroom complete with a Lightning McQueen car bed, from the movie Cars. It even has its own little race track at the foot of the bed. Once he saw the bed, all we were heard from his mouth was, “Racing car bed.” How sweet, right? Well, that one little phrase turned into something more as when it became time for him to go to bed, whether that be a nap or night time, he started making his own little song. Every day we heard, “Racing car, racing car, oh my racing car bed.” Over and over and over. I’d loved it! I couldn’t help but chuckle each time he sang it. Of course, I wanted to stab out my eardrums when I would try to fall asleep at night and all I would hear is my son’s voice singing his little song. It was actually in my head at that point and not coming from him.

Well, a few days went by and he quickly started changing his tune. His next song became about his grandfather (my father-in-law) and my in-laws English Springer Spaniel named, Mya. Davey refers to his grandfather in NY as Guh Guh. Not sure where that came from, but whenever we Skype or Facetime, he always says “Guh Guh” when he sees his grandfather’s face. It’s cute and my father-in-law seems to love it.

Anyways, by Tuesday, his tunes transformed from being about his racing car bed, to being about Guh Guh, Mya, and their noses. Yep, that’s right…noses! What we heard moving forward was, “Oh, Guh Guh, Mya, noses, oh”. Those words went on and on and on and were even accompanied with a little dance complete with what looked like a shuffle of the feet and jazz fingers. Hmmm.

I thought it was just a one time thing, Davey’s tunes, especially since I hadn’t heard anymore from him since we came home. Maybe it was something in the water in NY? That was until last night when we sat at the kitchen table, my husband, Davey and me, and played a game of dominoes. We’re teaching Davey the need for sharing, for waiting, and for taking turns, something he’s going to need to know once Henry gets here. So, after he played his domino, we told Davey it was Daddy’s turn, then it was Mommy’s turn. Needless to say, he broke into song (and had he been on the floor, dance too) about taking turns. This one flowed a little something like this, “Oh, Daddy turn and Mama turn and then Davey turn, oh, oh, oh.” That’s right, there were three “ohs” at the end.

Davey won’t bother trying to follow along with a song that’s been around for ages. He’s not interested. Instead, he’s eager to create his own little songs based upon his every day experiences and I love it! What a creative little mind he has and although he doesn’t exactly carry the tune well, he’s putting for the effort and my husband and I get the greatest little chuckles from it.

Preschool Blues

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Today I dropped off the paperwork and registration fee for Davey to start a Mother’s Morning Out program the first week of September. It’s something I’ve considered for quite some time especially with Henry on the way and truthfully I think Davey and I need the occasional break from each other. I researched, discussed it with my husband, and then contacted one of my girlfriends who sent her son to this same program. And it really didn’t take much coercion for me to decide that this is the place I wanted to send Davey or that I even wanted him to go.

Of course, it was almost a month ago when my husband and I made the decision to send Davey. At that point, September seemed so far away and I was almost conflicted about the whole thing. Actually, I’m still conflicted. Last month, I was almost desperate and at my wit’s end. I needed an outlet for Davey. I needed some place he could go so that I could have some time to myself. As a matter of fact, I would have sent him that very day, but now I’m becoming sad and a little nervous about the whole thing.

I’m sad because this is yet another sign that my baby is growing up and he’ll no longer be my baby. I’m sad because I almost feel like I’m a failure for needing to send him to a Mother’s Morning Out program. I’m sad because while he may be my Achilles heel at times, he won’t be with me all day. And then there’s the nervous end of the spectrum.

What if he doesn’t like it? What if he’s a little minion? What if he displays his stubborn, independence with his teachers and they want him to leave? What if he doesn’t really learn anything? What if he sees it as abandonment? I don’t really think he’ll feel abandoned, but I still worry about him. Supposedly, he’s a completely different child when he’s not around me. I should be thankful for that. I guess I’d much rather have him displaying his Terrible Twos around me as opposed to anyone else.

We go next week to Open House where I’ll be able to meet the teachers and introduce Davey. This is a big step. This is huge. This is the next milestone in our relationship as mother and son. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll be like me when my parents took me to Open House before I started kindergarten. Apparently, I wanted to stay and my words to my mother were, “You never let me do anything.” Or will he be like my brother, who screamed bloody murder and latched on to my mother’s leg? I don’t know how my husband was with his first day of kindergarten or preschool, but I can only hope it was a piece of cake.

On the plus side, this will give Davey social interaction WITHOUT me, which is a good thing. I’ve had him involved in a lot of things since I became a stay at home mom, but I’ve always been with him on each adventure. And then, I’ll have at least one day a week for three months to myself, that is before Henry arrives, and then I won’t be alone again for a while.

So, this weekend I guess we’ll be off shopping for a backpack and lunch box for Davey and I’ll officially be one of those moms who’s up and packing lunches and getting together school supplies (the school supplies are a little ways off still). It’s exciting and scary all rolled into one. Yikes! Here’s hoping Davey and I both survive!

O’ Henry!

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For those of you unaware at this point, we are indeed having a boy! My husband and I couldn’t be more thrilled, and I know we would have said the same thing if this one were a girl instead.

I wrote earlier about my fears of having a girl and I’m glad to know that those fears will not be realized now, although I’m sure I’ll come up with new ones along the way for Henry. Most of those fears are the same ones I had for Davey, so I guess you could say “been there, done that” and so I’m a bit calmer this time around. Oh, and before I go any further, perhaps I should explain Henry’s name.

I’m not a fan of modern, new age, contemporary or hip names. I’m not interested in trying to come up with a name just to be different or just to outdo a friend. So, Henry is a name that I’ve loved for a really long time. It’s a traditional name, somewhat romantic, and even strong. I did look up the name, much like I did with Davey’s, to find out its origins and apparently its German and means “home ruler”. Hmmm. I didn’t exactly think to look it up before naming him. I don’t know if I want this child to already think he’s the ruler of the home. I’ll keep this little tidbit to myself for a while.

We chose Bruce for his middle name and that comes from my maiden name. Davey shares a name not only with his dad and grandfather, but his middle name, Brian, comes from my younger brother. We gave Davey a strong family name and wanted to do the same with Henry, so Henry Bruce. Almost sounds like a ruler, doesn’t it?

Henry is healthy. His heart is strong with four solid chambers. His kidneys, stomach, and bladder look great. His spine is perfect. Since I am seeing the same doctor as I did for Davey, I asked for my chart to be pulled up so that I could compare my two boys. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but I am curious as to Henry’s progress in comparison to Davey. Henry is already measuring bigger than Davey did at this point, which concerns me seeing as how Davey wasn’t exactly a small baby anyways. Henry is also measuring approximately four days ahead. So, maybe he’ll get here early?

What I was really intrigued with is the fact that they are able to measure the brain matter of babies in the womb. It’s absolutely amazing! And what we found out is that Henry has a lot more brain matter than Davey did. What does that mean? Could be absolutely nothing, or maybe my Henry will be a genius! He’ll be a genius in his own right much like his older brother Davey.

But as I sat there and endured the ultrasound, I couldn’t help but reflect for a moment and marvel at the gift I’ve been given. Much like I did the first time I heard his and Davey’s heartbeats, I cried. I cried at both of their initial heartbeats and I found myself crying last week as well while watching Henry move around.

Being a mother is magical. It’s awe inspiring. It’s loving. It’s overwhelming. It’s the greatest experience ever. I’m amazed at how many people don’t really realize that until their baby has joined the world and they’re able to hold that baby in their arms. I’m amazed at how many people see an ultrasound as nothing more than a blob of cells. I saw my beautiful baby boy and my heart just swelled. Could I ever possible put into words my true feelings? Highly unlikely.

I am thankful everyday for this opportunity, for this adventure, and for the wonderful man I’ll share it with for the rest of my life. Now we’re just on a countdown for the next phase of our lives as parents. T-minus four months and counting until Henry sees the world!

The Trip That Almost Wasn’t

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Traveling is a lot more tedious and even strategic now that my husband and I are parents. Long gone are the days of worrying about just the two of us. So what if we only have 30 minutes to make our connecting flight! We can just make a run for it…those were the words we use to share with each other. Not so much these days.

We’re very fortunate to have a son that seems to be flexible and willing to travel. He’s a frequent flyer already, having logged his 18th plane ride this weekend. He was flying, and rather superbly I must say, at 2&1/2 months. That doesn’t mean traveling is as seamless as it once was, when it was only my husband and me.

Gone are the days of listening to my iPod, reading a book, or even picking up a celebrity magazine to pass the time while waiting to board a flight. If we have a delayed flight that could cause us to miss our connecting flight, then we have to seriously reconsider our travel, much like we did this past weekend when we were told that we wouldn’t make our flight in Baltimore. In the olden days of just husband and wife travel, we would have just dealt with adding an additional flight through Chicago into our travel, even if that meant arriving at our final destination after midnight. Not the case anymore.

So, we decided to delay our travel by a day, reroute out of our local airport, and take the over $150 in travel vouchers. Of course that meant keeping our little rebel, aka Davey, cooped up in a car for another 2 hours as we drove back home. You can only imagine the amount of energy he had once we finally walked back into our house. It was like holding a wind up toy, winding it to its max, and letting it go.

The next morning we rose before the crack of dawn, 4:30 to be exact, to try our travel again. Take 2! And what we thought would be seamless wasn’t so much the case. Nothing is more excruciating for the parens of a toddler, than watching the seconds click by on the clock as you continue to sit on the Tarmac. Seconds become minutes and minutes quickly add up to a cranky toddler who can’t understand why the plane is not his own personal playground.

And what’s worse is that after the minutes pass by and you’re pushed out from the gate, you hear the pilot state that the necessary little generator needed to actually start the engines is tanked. Yes, that would be correct. We were then pulled back into the gate to fix our issue. My husband and I looked at our watch and realized that we may actually miss our connecting flight this time. What are the odds?

We developed our plan of blocking, quick exiting, and picking up anything we checked at the gate. And when we landed, I was quickly thankful for the fact that I am a runner, that I am strong, and that I’ve managed to stay in shape during this pregnancy because while lugging the extra weight from the baby in my belly, and a 35 pound toddler, I managed to still navigate the airport, stay ahead of my husband, and make it to our connecting flight. Whew!

Needless to say, I think I’m already developing an ulcer as I worry about how we’ll manage this once the second baby arrives.

My Personal Deprecation

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This morning we had a wonderful experience with Davey. I have to admit the kid continues to surprise me and he NEVER ceases to amaze me. Today was no different.

While scrambling up a couple of eggs for Davey, he stood at the fridge where we keep his magnetic letters. I’ve worked hard with him to learn his alphabet, to recognize the letters, to say the letters, even if he doesn’t say them all in order yet. At one point, he started doing what I call “droning”, or perhaps it was just me. You see, we’ve become accustomed to him constantly “talking”; however, we don’t always know what he’s saying. I figured this morning was the same or maybe he was just talking to himself, something else he seems to do. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that it dawned on me what he was doing. He was pulling the letters off of the fridge and saying what the were. I was thrilled! I was so ecstatic that of course I called my husband.

My husband was so proud of Davey, even listening to him as he told his daddy over the phone what letters he was holding up. Of course, my husband had to just trust that Davey was picking the correct letters since he couldn’t see him. I was so excited I had to call another family member and tell that person as well. Before I go further, I’m not going to name that family member here. I don’t want to air out my or I should say “our” dirty laundry.

The family member picked up the phone after a couple of rings and I told them what Davey had just done. The response was far from the level of excitement I was hoping for. Maybe Davey’s behind at this point, but for 22 months, I think he’s doing very well being able to say his letters as well as recognize them.

I prodded and tried to encourage the family member by explaining that Davey is only 22 months old and wasn’t this just wonderful? The family member tells me that Davey is a busy body and that’s why he’s learning so much. Of course, I wanted to toot my own horn just a bit since I work with him relentlessly on a daily basis. My response, “Well, don’t give me any credit for it.” The family member’s response, “Hmmm. OK.”

Naturally, I’ve hit a downward spiral since the conversation this morning. I’m back to doing what I do best, self deprecation. Am I not doing a good enough job? Am I doing more damage than good by staying home with Davey? I’m really starting to think I am and it really saddens me because it makes me feel like I’m a failure.

There are a lot of other stay at home moms out there and I can’t help but wonder, are you guys in the same boat as me? Are you constantly feeling ridiculed by family members, feeling that you’re inadequate or that you just aren’t doing a good job? And if you are, what do you do? Wanna know what I did? I put Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on for my son and then came upstairs and cried.

I suppose I should just say “screw you” to that family member (which I would never be able to do) and be proud of my son. And I am proud of him. I’m very proud of him, I just can’t help but wonder sometimes if he could be more without me, do more without me. Am I holding him back?

It’s just another day in being a mother and maybe I’m weak for letting this family member get to me. I’ll bounce back, but I’ll still constantly wonder if I’m really doing a good job. I suppose that comes along with motherhood or maybe just my personality in general because even if I was a working mother, I’m sure I would be doubting myself and my choices.

Kiss

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I don’t think I’ve really understood the magically powers of a kiss. At the risk of sounding slutty, I’ve had my share of kisses in life. I can still remember my first kiss and how terrifying and awkward it was. I can recall my first “true love” kiss and how my entire body seemed to tingle. Then of course there was “The Kiss”, the one I shared with my husband when we were pronounced husband and wife. That kiss has been the most phenomenal one to date, but I suppose it’s the kisses I receive from a three foot little boy who calls me “mama” that really just sets my entire body on edge.

Kisses with my husband have always been wonderful. They’ve been passionate and powerful, sweet and doting, and even angry. Kisses with Davey can basically be summed up as little gifts from heaven, far greater than what I’ve ever experienced before. A kiss, to a child, means something much more than what it ever could mean to an adult.

I love how he randomly walks over to me and says, “kiss, mama”, while closing his eyes and puckering up. When he falls, he runs over to me, and with his crocodile tears, says, “kiss, mama.” He holds up wherever his boo boo may be and once it’s been kissed, I get an “all better, mama”.

Each morning, when he wakes he has to offer up a kiss, not just to me and his daddy, but also to our dog, Dixie. It’s endearing and melts my heart. To him, a kiss fixes everything and just makes the whole world better. Too bad that’s really not true. If a simple kiss could fix the problems of this world, then imagine the possibilities. To my baby, it IS as simple as that.

A kiss heals a boo boo or scrape. A kiss starts the morning out right. A kiss makes it easier to sleep at night. A kiss before leaving says, “be safe”. A kiss in the middle of the day says, “just because.” A kiss is the most phenomenal gift given especially when it comes from your child.

I count my blessings every day. I’m fortunate and blessed to have the opportunity to experience this little treasure. As a matter of fact, kisses from Davey have even influenced the kisses my husband and I share with each other. We’re a little bit slower about it, a little bit more deliberate, and actually realize the true meaning behind our kisses. I thank my son for that.

And if it’s a Girl…

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Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.

I’m not so sure about that, after all I am a girl and while that may be quite the cute little poem, little girls aren’t necessarily made up of everything nice. Ok, well, they may start out that way.

Yesterday, my husband and I were pontificating about if we had a little girl. I don’t know that my husband really has an opinion or a vision as to what our daughter may or may not be, but mine’s pretty strong especially considering how lately my parents enjoy telling stories about me.

I admit it, I have this innate fear that my daughter will turn out to be the exact replica of me, perhaps ten times worse. I can only pray she’s my opposite, at least in personality, because the looks department doesn’t worry me quite so much. You’ve seen pictures of Davey, after all, he’s quite the handsome little kid.

Will she be as manipulative as me? I was the type, especially as a teenager, who found ways to play my parents against each other. I quickly learned out who to go to and when, in order to get what I wanted and in most cases, if I timed it right my parents were completely oblivious to my shenanigans. Suppose I’ll be smarter than that, especially since I know the tricks? Maybe.

I knew my daddy’s strengths and weaknesses. I played on the fact that he called me his “gal”. I called him “daddy” in my sweet, Southern girl voice and it would melt my daddy especially if I needed money. I could get almost any amount I wanted out of him. As for the dating and curfew? Forget that! I didn’t stand a chance with him.

As for my mother, one would think since she grew up with most anything she wanted, she would be free with giving out things. Not the case. She would; however, let me have a later curfew and smooth things over with Daddy when I wanted to start dating, which by the way wasn’t allowed until I was 16. So, I would go to one for the money and then the other for the later curfew. It was easy.

What wasn’t easy was my teenage years. I was awkward and yet eager to fit in. I was a highly intelligent kid, but I didn’t put forth the effort in school because I was more interested in finding ways to fit in with the popular crowd or to hang out with my friends. Looking back, I certainly regret that. I wished I’d been more focused on my schoolwork. Perhaps my husband and I still wouldn’t be paying back my student loans if that were the case!

But, if it’s a girl, which we find out on Wednesday, I know I will love her all the same. Admittedly, I’m terrified at the prospect of raising a daughter. I LOATHE the color pink. I hate tutus and bows. The poor girl will likely have “bowl” cuts her entire life, since I’m not exactly capable of styling hair. I won’t be able to take her to her version of New Kids on the Block concerts because I’m not able to handle the screaming hormones now, I definitely won’t be able to when I’m 53. And then there’s the whole “dating” fiasco as she becomes older. It terrifies the #$@^ out of me!

It will all work out in the end, I know it will. But, pray for me (well, more so for my husband!), if we have a little girl just like me. It may be the end of the world as we know it.