When I first found out I was pregnant I was estatic, elated, sooooo happy! Immediately I had visions of baby dresses, pigtails and dolls. My daughter would soon be eleven so it had been a LONG time since I had a little peanut growing inside of me.
All doctor appointments went well and I couldn’t wait for the first images of my little girl.
Then, I heard those words. “Congratulations! You’re having a boy!”
Hold up. A what?!?! NOOOOOOO! That can’t be right. Check again, I’m having a girl.
Nope. Absolutely not. Most definitely a boy. In that moment all my dreams of finally having another little girl to play dress-up with were over. In an instant. I’m not proud to say that I was disappointed…a little.
No baby dresses. No pigtails. No dolls.
Instead, those images were replaced with baseballs, footballs, and blue. Lots of blue.
What was I going to do? I don’t know the first thing about sports. I’m going to have to run? Dribble a ball? What was I going to do with a boy?
Then, my boy came. Baby B. Cutest. Baby. Ever.
Immediately, I was in love. I wanted to eat his chubby cheeks. He was beautiful. Everything I never knew I always wanted.
Now, at five months (he will be on Wednesday) he is my world. I love his screeches sounds, his face, his everything. The way he looks at me with those adorable still-grey eyes that tell me that he loves me right back. Baby B. My son.
AND…he even looks like me!
When he was born I was convinced that I was merely an incubator…both of my kids resemble their fathers. I was only necessary to bake ‘em for 9 months, I thought. Then my dad sent me that photo and, FINALLY, I can see ME in Baby B.
Now I know exactly what I will do as he gets older.
Love him. Always.
That’s all a child really needs anyway.