The X Contribution

This might sound strange, but what am I going to do with a girl? Even now, at 18.5 weeks pregnant, I have her tiny preschool body wrapped around my legs, whining and pleading for a tiara and princess gown in a crowded Target aisle. She’s throwing fits about coral (ewwww) fingernail polish and methodically matching her underwear with her outer clothes. Worse, she’s a pubescent teenager, fighting off randy boys; worrying about whether or not her physique “stacks up” in comparison to all of her underweight peers; and wanting us to drop $300 a month at Sephora and the trendy, overpriced clothing store du jour.

Some of my irrational fear-of-a-girl stems from the fact that I listen to too many people. I keep hearing the voices of strangers, family members, and friends on a loop, “Girls are so much harder than boys.” Harder? Are you kidding me? As if mothering boys is a cinch, something one can do with an arm tied behind their back while blindfolded in a drunken stupor.

The fact is that I’m used to boys, plain and simple. I’m used to my oldest’s vile socks and armpits (he’s a 10 year-old-in-training for proper hygiene practices) and his many years of not giving a damn about what he wore until recently (he had a penchant for choosing heinous outfits, like tie-dye and camouflage). I’ve grown accustomed to my little one’s “wild boy” disposition and a home full of trucks, Legos, and action figures. My house is a whirlwind of testosterone, flatulence, and potty humor. And, honestly, I don’t really mind most of the time.

A revelation unfolded yesterday during a telephone conversation with my mother that having a girl will, among other things, provide me with the opportunity to exorcise some of my demons. I’m going to have to squarely face my self-image pitfalls and cut myself some slack. After all, I’ve clocked in 38 years, 11 months, and 2 ½ weeks on my body, and I’ve birthed two boys. I have stretch marks, cellulite, and what is known as a “mother’s apron.” In turn, dealing with my issues will help me to more effectively navigate my daughter through her own difficulties.

That said, inevitably, we pass our not-so-desirous personality traits onto our children. I think it’s unavoidable. But c’mon, I don’t want to pass off some of this crap. (I also didn’t want to pass on the drama gene, but I’ve managed to do that…) In many ways, which I won’t address here for brevity’s sake, males have it easier than do females—perhaps that is really why people say what they do about raising girls. If I’m still blogging in 13 years, I’ll let you know. Regardless of sex, gender challenges, or character development, I’m in for a ride.