There Really is No Difference.....

(Blogging for over 10 years and I still write from the heart, unedited, and raw. I love all of my children. To the mom of boys.........)

For years I prayed for a girl. Years. God delivered......or ummmm, I delivered a beautiful baby girl on February 4th just 4 years ago. Wow, she is almost 4. Almost instantly, on finding out she was a girl, my life became filled with pink. Pink walls. Pink blankets. Pink dresses with pretty pink bows for her hair. Pink. Pink. Pink. All was pink.

Until she learned about the color blue, green, and red. Then she learned about numbers and letters. Somewhere, in between the letters and numbers, she discovered the infinite love of legos that her brothers had and her favorite movie became Ice Age.

Ice Age. The movie that my middle boy watched on repeat was now requested, (more like demanded) I was being watched over and over again by my girl.

Soon she got bigger and those pink frilly dresses got more expensive. Her hair grew and grew. I loved it. But, like most hair it just never stopped growing. So the hair styles became more exotic and they became styled for one purpose, knot defense. Bandanas were a necessity. Headbands became for only special occasions.

I freaked when I found out I was having a girl. I prayed for this child. I once was talking to a soon-to-be family member and explained how nothing ever happens in my favor and that I was sure something was wrong or the sonogram was wrong. "Stuff just doesn't work out happily ever after for me," I said. Maybe it was the hormones but I doubt it. My wedding was a catastrophe, the birth of my first child was traumatic and the scariest My middle boy came into this world in a day that I was so drugged up I hardly remember.

Zoey came into our lives and turned us all upside down. She was delivered early on a tilt table because a normal table would be......well normal. Zoey is not normal. She does nothing normal but everything is done in perfect Zoey fashion. She insists "her" numbers go 1,2,9,10. She doesn't have time to tell you the correct way because she has things she needs to do. Zoey means Life. Zoey's life is full of adventure. Adventure is everywhere. You either have to be quick enough to say 3,4,5,6,7,8 in between 1,2, and 9,10 or you missed out. She knows her numbers, it's just not her thing.

Tag, however, is her thing. On Zoey's first day of school, Zoey's teacher(who we adore), suggested we read together "Arms are Not For Hitting!" In which we replied, "ummm ok!" and promptly bought the book from the Amazon app on my phone and hung our head in shame. How did our gentle girl learn hitting? How? I didn't hit her unless absolutely necessary, As in, "No, don't touch the burner!!!" Her dad didn't hit her. He treated her like a princess. After some observation and hours of lost sleep (on my part) we realized she wasn't hitting. She was playing tag. Tag is her thing. It is also her brothers' thing. It was "their" thing. So, we stopped playing tag. :(

See, all those days I wanted a girl, I felt like I couldn't relate to anyone in my house. Why did I have this perspective?Try to tell me now I wanted this, just try, because out of everyone in this house, on most days, the person I don't relate to is "the" Zoey. Bro Bro gets her. Chicken gets her to some extent. My husband just has to look at her sad and she immediately will stop walking towards the stove let alone reach for the burner.

I know their are moms out their praying for their girl. One day, I might relate to Zoey more than her dad but really it's like that with all of my kids. They have rotated between my husband and I preferring one to the other. Zoey is no different. I will have my time with her but really, I have had my time with all of them.

There was the time I took "Chicken" to see my sister in a starring role in "Mary Poppins!" We then, for the next year, watched "Mary Poppins" till both of us could recite our parts. He was Bert and I was Mary.

There was also the time when "Bro Bro" ate vegan with me for a month, proceeded to start wearing tie dye, and hung tapestries in his room. He went to work daily with me. He even worked on math during the busy season as I jammed out to the Beatles until we both knew those lyrics inside and out. He was 8 at the time.

Zoey is still evolving into the person she is meant to be. We all are, really! Who am I to get in Zoey's way. (Let us be honest, no one could get in her way, even if they tried!)

So, to the moms that want the girl. Invite a teen to the mall, invite a mom to tea with her daughter, or shower a large family with matching outfits for all the pink ruffle lovers in the house. It will be somewhat of the same experience I have had. The girlie moments are fleeting and almost always lead by me. The real moments happen in between the tangled hair or "Disney World" girl moments.

The real times are...,,...They happen when all you ask of your children is to be present with you in the moment.

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