When you get pregnant with your third and have two boys already and then people ask if you want a girl, the polite and usual response is, "No, I just want the baby to be healthy." Of course I wanted the baby to be healthy, but the reality was I also wanted it to be a her. When I was pregnant with Genevie, before I knew she was going to be a Genevie, I wanted a girl. Not a little bit. Not a lot. But deep down into my bones I wanted a girl. I dreamed of doing all those mother/daughter things that mothers and daughters do, like going shopping and getting pedicures and talking for hours on the phone. I wanted to share clothes and shoes and fix her hair in adorable coifs. I wanted to teach her how to be strong and successful in a man's world without losing the femininity and intuitiveness that set us apart.
Well, you know how the story goes. God gave me Genevie. She is an amazing little girl. She is both feisty and sweet, tough and tender. She hangs with her brothers playing with cars and Star Wars figures, but loves purple and pink and earrings. In fact, these days she won't stop asking to get her ears pierced. I told her to talk to Daddy.
A few nights ago, I experienced one of those long anticipated moments that had made me desire a daughter so much. I came into her room to say goodnight. My hair was wet from just getting out of the shower. She doesn't usually see me with wet hair because I usually shower at night after she's asleep, and it completely fascinated her. She kept reaching up and stroking it and telling me how much she loved my hair. Then she blew me away with this one: "Mommy, can I brush your hair?" Um, yes! I went and got a brush from the bathroom and for five minutes we just sat there chatting away with her gently brushing my wet hair. It was such an intimate moment, the kind I had dreamed of and gave me a glimpse of the many more to come.