I’ve always wanted a little girl. Before I got married, I used to dream about what it would be like to have a little, like me. We’d walk the beach together in our sundresses and floppy hats. We’d get our nails done and color in princess coloring books. She’d be the sweetest, happiest little girl, and never give me an ounce of trouble, because she’d know how much I loved her.
After my boys were born, I was exuberant! My boys were affectionate, loving, hand-holdy, and smothered me in kisses. I loved being the mom of two boys. The thought of having a little girl was slipping further away, as I went from 36 to 38 to 40 years old. I always felt like a piece of our family was missing. Hard to explain, but I didn’t feel like we were complete.
In January 2009, we took our boys the Boston Aquarium with our friends and their two toddlers. Our boys were old enough to walk without a stroller, were no longer in diapers, and we were secretly ‘high-fiving’ each time our friends had to stop and change a diaper, or pick up a dropped binky or blanket.
On the ride home, we were talking about how nice it was to have our boys at an age where they were becoming easier. And then it hit both of us…it had been a while since he’d had to run to the store for Tampax. Without saying a word, he pulled into Walgreens. Fifteen minutes later we were staring at two lines on a pregnancy test.
“Really?” he asked, “I know, right?” I responded. But there it was. We were pregnant.
I knew immediately, it was a girl. After two miscarriages, and two boys, I just knew I’d be blessed with a little girl.
On August 24th, my little girl arrived. I’d spent months being told by doctors, geneticists and specialists, that my daughter may be born with a deformity, mental illness, or chromosomal abnormality. I’d been poked and prodded. When she was born, the entire neo-natal unit rushed into the operating room, she was whisked away for what felt like hours. And then she was placed into my arms and I heard the doctor say, “Well…she’s perfect!” I knew in that moment, God had given me this beautiful miracle, and my family was complete.
Now here we are, close to 9 years later. She can’t decide what she wants for breakfast. She won’t wear what I want her to wear. She’s become an independent, spirited and sassy little girl. At times she tries my patience. At times she makes me crazy. But oh my God do I love her.
I look at her, who she’s becoming and my heart literally aches with love for her. I’m often told that she’s a concentrated version of me; the me that loves to sing, loves life and loves attention. But she’s so much more than that. She’s quick witted, compassionate and kind. She’s stubborn and stands her ground. She’ll be your best friend or your worst enemy, if you’re on the side of wrong. She’s fearless. She’s fierce.
Do we walk the beach in sundresses and get our nails done? Sure. Has she given me an ounce of trouble? Hell, yah.
But she will always be my miracle baby.
The odds were against her and she fought even then. And in the words of the doctor who delivered her, 9 years ago, “she’s…perfect!”