Lucky

One of my favorite blogs is Enjoying the Small Things. Kelle takes the most gorgeous photos and writes posts that speak directly to me as a mother, woman, wife, and friend. And it doesn't hurt that she has two of the most beautiful little girls I have ever seen. Her latest post (you can read it here) reminds me of an ongoing monologue I am having with myself (and any friends/husband who will listen).

The day we went in for our 20 week ultrasound (which also happened to be our 5 year wedding anniversary) was one of the scariest, happiest, most overwhelming days of my life. I always saw myself with a boy. Raising a son. I don't know why. Maybe because I was (am?) a Tomboy. Or maybe because my only friends were male until I was in elementary school. Or maybe it was because I remembered what I was like as a teenager. It doesn't matter, the point is that I thought for sure that ultrasound tech was going to tell me there was a little boy in there. She didn't.

EVERYTHING CHANGED. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. But it's true. Just like the day I said "yes" to my future husband as he knelt in front of me with the most beautiful ring I had ever seen, and the day we stood in front of the most important people in our lives and promised forever, and the (wine-soaked) night we decided we were ready to start a family....and then the day I did what I had been putting off for a week...taking the pregnancy test.

There is a 50/50 chance here. You get a boy or a girl. Everyone knows this going in (I think) and yet, when that woman said "Do you want to know the sex?" and we dumbly nodded our heads back at her, I really didn't expect to hear "IT'S A GIRL". I had flashes of (way too much) pink, dresses, pigtails, my Grandmother's eyes, attitude, drama, Mean Girls, and boys.

I am a girl. I know all these things to be true. I also know that I, somehow, by the grace of SOMETHING, even amongst the drama, boys, and raging hormones, had a solid head on my shoulders, weighed (most of) my decisions carefully, worried what my mother would think, and was a really good friend (I mean, maybe that's tooting my own horn, I guess my actual friends would have to weigh in, but I have had most of them from 5-25 years, so stats are on my side).

I did bad things. I said terrible, awful things during fights with my mother that I always regretted. I dated. I broke rules. I was grounded for the majority of my junior year in high school. I was so far from perfect.

What I never did was worry that boys didn't like me because I wasn't the right size, or that I didn't have the right hair, or that I didn't hang out with the right people. I liked myself. I felt confident in who I was. I was loud, I wore green cowboy boots for way too long, my legs were so skinny that someone asked me once if they had to have my tights specially made, I quit field hockey after 6 years to become a cheerleader (which was not that cool at the time), I didn't wear make-up, I liked reading everything that was assigned, I rarely did my homework, I worried about how other people felt about themselves, I sat with basketball players on the bus after a game because we liked to have thumb wars (and nothing else), and I wore my heart on my sleeve.

I am 32 years old, my mother is my best friend, and I seriously have NO IDEA how she did this for me. I hate to say "she" too because my father was a large part of my life until I was 16. They shaped me. They taught me. They loved me.

I have asked my mother HOW this was possible, what she set out to do, how she made sure I wouldn't have sex at 14, or side with the kids who were pointing and laughing because they could. I am seriously disappointed to say that she claims she also had no idea what she was doing. WTH are our parents for if they can't tell me EXACTLY how to tell my sweet, smart, caring, sassy, bossy toddler that all of that...everything she is...is exactly who she is supposed to be, and that she is more than good enough? 

My kid is bigger than life. How do I send her out into the world and make sure she knows that nobody should be able to tell her otherwise, and that she should also stand up and say so when someone else is being torn down? I'm not even saying that I always did that, but I am saying that I know by the end of the dreaded teenage years, that I had done my best with the hand (and hormones and developing brain) I was (and all teenagers are) dealt, and came out on the other side loud, wearing inappropriate shoes, still claiming to be a cheerleader, and backing those I love 100%.

I tell people I was lucky, but I know that's not true. I know it's because I have good parents, amazing friends, and an unwavering support system. I wake up everyday and wait for my instincts to kick in, wait for my big A-HA! moment, and then trudge forward, having blind faith that somewhere in here I have what it takes to give all of this to N. Having faith that someday, after battling her way through Junior High, High School, and beyond, that she will be able to say she did it with her self-esteem in tact, and a whole mess of crazy, fun, loving people behind her cheering her on.