During my first pregnancy I just knew I was having a boy.
I referred to my baby as “he”, and I had already settled on a name.
But the night before my 20-week ultrasound I had a dream that I was carrying a girl.
In my dream I was elated and so excited to have a daughter.
But as it turns out, being a girl and raising a girl are two wildly different things.
Here are the top things I’ve learned from having daughters.
Looking back I’m not even sure why it mattered.
Other than maybe aPee Pee Teepee.
My daughters have two very frilly grandmothers, so there was never a shortage of fancy dresses and lace.
That’s the opposite of feminism.
For Father’s Day, my oldest asked to pick out a nice dress shirt for my husband.
My girls don’t like pink because it’s for girls.
They like pink because it’s a beautiful color.
My husband wears the pink shirt every week.
He’s also added some pastel blue, purple and turquoise shirts to his wardrobe.
My girls know for sure that colors didn’t have genders.
All this time, I think I’ve been trying to convince myself.
It’s only as they get older that they seem to shy away from glitter.
It might be the herpes of craft supplies, but glitter isfun.
It’s sparkly, and fancy, and visually stimulating.
I don’t know why it’s reserved for people with little tiny uteruses.
Glitter should be for anyone who likes a little pizzazz in their life!
Glitter fart jokes are a manly segue for the gentleman who wants to get in on the glitz game.
And it’s high time that boys got to enjoy some bedazzles too.
Then I gave birth to my second daughter.
I expelled a human being from my body without so much as a Tylenol.
But there was no time for drugs with my second child, so it wasaunaturelbaby.
I’ve seen the video footage, and there’s no way I should have survived that.
But I not only survived, I felt empowered.
My husband was weak in the knees just watching the whole thing go down.
And I was ready to do it again just 15 minutes after she was born.
After her birth I realized my own strength.
I might not be able to move a boulder, but neither can my husband.
And I am the only one in the house who can kick off the pickle jars.
The little boy screeched that my daughter had pulled his pants down.
Her little toddler friend Gracie confirmed that yes, my daughter had pulled down this boy’s pants.
Mortified, I apologized to the boy’s mother, and I scolded my daughter as we walked away.
I asked her why on earth she would pull down a boy’s pants.
She’s basically Batman.
you’re free to’t play with these.
Your Legos are pink."
She looked at me a little embarrassed and started to head out of the Star Wars section.
I knelt down laughing, and I asked the little boy how he knew they were boy Legos.
He said because Star Wars is for boys.
I asked if he wanted to call and tell General Leia that Star Wars is for boys.
The mama bear in me wanted to wash those words right out of that little boy’s mouth.
But I realized that I’m not going to turn anyone’s heart with brute force.
And some women are forced to work just to make ends meet.
So I took some time off to focus on the one that needed me most.
My baby never slept, and I was a walking zombie even without punching a clock in the morning.
I tip my hat to them, and I’m especially grateful for what they do.
It takes a village, and we are all working in it together.
That looked to be about seven years, but I couldn’t stay away from work that long.
I can work remotely and come into the office just a few days a week.
I love my job so much, and it gives me a renewed sense of purpose in the world.
But even now I find it hard to balance my career with my kids.
The world is fine with my husband going into work in the morning and coming home in the evening.
It’s actually expected of him.
If he travels for weeks on business, he’s hailed as a hero for providing for his family.
But when I went back to work, I got a different response.
It’s not that my husband refuses to help.
But our culture is still designed for women to be the primary caregivers.
I’m sure my brilliant little girls will make a difference in the world and have amazingly successful careers.
Being their mother gave me the strength not to apologize for mine.
But it was liberating to finally stop holding my stomach in all the time.
It was ok to have a round belly as long as I was growing a person.
“Are you sure there aren’t twins in there?”
“Whoa you’ve got to be ready to pop any day right?”
Comments like that when I was still two months from delivering didn’t do much for my self esteem.
But my mom had always told me how beautiful she felt during pregnancy, and it stuck.
I felt like a glowing earth goddess, even if I looked like more of a greased pig.
But after delivery, it was even harder to love my body.
The first time I looked in the mirror, I cried.
My mother-in-law told me she wore her pre-baby jeans home from the hospital.
I was a busted can of biscuits with deep purple scars staring at me in my fat swollen face.
But I didn’t see it that way at all.
All I saw were stretch marks, flabby skin, and fat chunks where there used to be none.
I never realized how much value I put in my outer appearance until my body was mangled by motherhood.
But having a newborn didn’t leave much time for wallowing.
My body needed extra calories to produce a substance that was single-handedly sustaining human life.
My fat thighs paced the floor to soothe a crying baby.
One night we took the girls to dinner at our favorite burger joint.
When she asked what they were my initial response was to avoid the question.
But I paused and thought about why I was so embarrassed to tell her.
I looked in the basket and casually said, “Oh those are pads and tampons.”
Her obvious follow-up question?
“What are they for?”
I explained that they were products that women used when they were on their period.
They knew there was blood involved.
They knew the blood didn’t hurt, but sometimes the cramps did.
Luckily no one asked what happens if you want to use the egg to make a baby.
I’m not sure the kindergartener was ready for that story.
But when she is, I’ll answer her with age-appropriate honesty.
There’s nothing dirty or wrong with having your period.
In fact, it’s a super great sign that your body is functioning exactly as it should.
The value of confidence
One day my kindergartener asked me if she was fat.
I realized then that I had to be vigilant about keeping the negative self talk to a minimum.
And if I want them to see what I see, I have to teach them to love themselves.
I’ve always had a hard time accepting compliments, and self-deprecating humor is my go-to defense mechanism.
But I’ve made it a point to learn.
When my husband tells me I look beautiful, I smile and proudly say, “Thank you.”
I don’t ever want my child to worry about having a fat butt, or a chubby gut.
Marie Curie didn’t pioneer her way toa Nobel Prizeby worrying about a thigh gap.
Girls are just people
I have two daughters.
They both have the same biological parents.
Being a female is no more a personality trait than having brown hair or blue eyes.
They are just little human beings, and they’ve already taught me more than they realize.
