When I was pregnant with N (and aware she was a girl), I spent a lot of time thinking obsessing over the ghastly amounts of pink things that were going to start descending upon my home. I worried that frills and pink and dolls and princesses were going to be shoved down her throat everywhere we turned. I was worried that from Day 1 she was going to believe that Prince Charming was real (the HORROR!) and that he was going to ride in on a white horse and save her from her terrible parents who wish her to be well-rounded and independent. I glared at my poor mother anytime she appeared on the doorstep with yet another bag of clothes, assuming that everything in it would say "Cute as a Button", or "Princess in Training" (they didn't, by the way, none of them did, my mother has impeccable taste, I was just a psycho pregnant lady).
I told anyone who would listen that I was a tomboy, that I only had male friends until I was 7 (true), and that I had NO IDEA how to stomach any of those things, and to fend off anyone who dare try and make her watch Sleeping Beauty. It was exhausting thinking of the million scenarios where I would have to tell her that she doesn't need to wear pink/be a princess/let a man take care of her/kiss frogs/or play with Barbie.
What is my point? It's this:
We met Cinderella. And it was fun. N walked right up to her, her eyes so big, and gave her a huge hug. Then stood there, staring. She was amazed. We also rode in a horse drawn carriage, and visited her castle. Then we danced down the hill to continue our amusement park day. Meeting Cinderella was, by far, the highlight of her very long and exciting day. And I didn't have a stroke. I didn't tell her she's not real. And I didn't tell her that the pumpkin was plastic, and that her Fairy Godmother's sparkly wand looked like it was bought at the Dollar Store. I danced with her, and took pictures like someones depraved Stage Mom, and I enjoyed every minute of it.
Just like when I picked her up from daycare the other day and she was beside herself with excitement because she climbed the (very small) rock wall ALL BY HERSELF. And then showed me. Again and again. Just like when she stood in line for the log flume and laughed at her father for being nervous. Just like when she announced in the car the other day that she NEEDS a red truck for her birthday, and not one you ride on, one she can push around herself and make truck noises for. Just like when we sat on the floor and taught her how to play her very first card came, and she got it. Just like when she talks circles around her little friends. Just like when she insisted on the blue Cars pull-ups and not the Princess ones. And just like every single day when she shows me a little bit more of who she is and who she is going to be.
She is going to be well-rounded, and independent. And if she meets Prince Charming and he sweeps her off her feet, I will keep my gagging noises to a minimum, as long as she gets through med school first.
And for the record, I was not all tomboy (I might exaggerate sometimes, and then add pregnancy hormones to that...good luck!). Yes, I had more male friends than female, I wore my brother's clothes, and I wanted to play hockey and be a goalie (guess who did that?), but I was also a ballerina for 12 years. I was a cheerleader in high school. I have vast amounts of embarrassing diary entries to look through and remind myself that I really did care what those silly 13 year old boys thought of me. But, I always wore my Doc Martens with my dresses, I loved it when people thought my hair looked like Eddie Veddar's, Rainbow Brite and Punky Brewster were always cooler than Barbie in my book, and my brother is still my hero.
So there.
I did not run the Beach to Beacon.
I didn't train. At all.
What I did do was: camp, weekended away with friends, vacationed with my family, went to and hosted BBQ's, watched Super Husband sing and play in multiple fantastic shows, hit the beach, watched my girl grow more confident in the water moment by moment, ate dinner and drank wine outside with amazing friends, went to amusement parks, celebrated a dear friend who is having her first baby, attended a wake and a funeral, worked, got N through yet another ear infection (WITH TUBES, ARGH!), stressed that Summer is passing me by at the speed of light and we still haven't gone on a picnic, challenged myself to cook/use ALL the swoon-worthy vegetables we get from our CSA, saw a movie, planned sleepovers with my oldest niece, and tried so very hard to soak up every ray of Summer sun.
And Summer isn't even over yet. Not that you can tell by the dreary sky outside and 55 degree nights and mornings of late. I have confidence we will see a little more of it before September hits.
So no, I didn't run the B2B. But did I fail? No, not really. Sure, I am mildly disappointed that I didn't achieve this particular goal THIS year, but what I did do was pretty outstanding. I made choices. I didn't work out as much as I would have liked, but sometimes (okay, pretty much all the time) rushing to happy hour for an hour to celebrate your BFF's birthday is more important, and more gratifying, than a 3mile run.
Life is a series of choices each day. From what shoes I put on to walk in the rain to work, to what my attitude is going to be about the rain. I chose to sign up for the race, and then chose to spend late Spring, and most of Summer, playing with my family and friends, and supporting the ones who needed it. I'd call that a success.
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.
