When we finally decided that we were done having babies (you know, before we found out that we were pregnant with our third. ahem.), I spent some time mourning the little baby girl that I would never have. Mourning is the best way I can describe it because it truly did feel like a loss.
I am a girl. That’s fairly obvious given the creation of babies in ze belly, but I’m not a girly-girl. Perhaps the girliest thing about me is that I have always wanted to have a girl. I’ve always had those little baby daughter fantasies.
Before we find out if this new baby is a girl or a boy, either of which I would be thrilled about (well, thrilled if it’s a boy, thrilled and terrified if it’s a girl), I feel like this is my last chance to capture these “what if it’s a girl/ what if I never have a girl” feelings.
A few months before I found out about our new baby, I was watching a movie that included a scene of a mother and small daughter taking a bubble bath together. With no warning, I found myself crying. The feminine tenderness of the image knocked around within an empty spot in my heart and left me breathless. I wanted that and had decided that I would no longer pursue it. Happily decided so, with no less than a heaping helping of relief, but it was a loss nonetheless.
We all give up on certain dreams throughout our lives, often for sound reasons, but we mourn the loss of their warm glow just the same. These dreams that have kept us company and occupied a bit of our imagination for so many years. For me, it was the image of my dream daughter peeking around corners of my mind any time I would see a little girl that reminded me of her.
My daughter. The one that exists in my mind has long dark, curly hair. Her eyes are almond shaped and deep brown. Her skin is the olive of her father’s. She is the one child of my three that looks more Lebanese than Irish. Who would have ever imagined that my Irish genes would put the beat-down on my husband’s Lebanese stronghold?
She is the mysterious princess that might not fit in quite so well while growing up but that all of the boys will clamor for when she grows into her own. She is a woman beyond her years from the moment she is born, yet full of mischief and light.
I celebrate my daughter.
I picture her in a sparkly princess dress at the age of three, yet wielding a sword and demanding that her older brothers obey her orders as their magical Queen. She is the peacekeeper and the troublemaker. We all bend to her will.
My daughter is the one that teaches my husband, Maguire, what true self-reliance means. She needs no one to complete her yet she invites the world in through her limitless gaze.
She is my daughter. And I may never meet her.
Or so I thought, until about a week ago. Now, suddenly, meeting that daughter seems like a possibility. For three more weeks or so, it will remain a possibility and I’m going to enjoy it. And if it ends up being a son? I will be beside myself with excitement because I know the joy that boys are and I am a boy-mama through and through.
Though I think I could get the hang of this girl stuff. For my daughter.
Sweet, beautiful, hilariously intelligent little girl made of more spice than sugar, if we do not meet, know that I somehow loved you anyway and will miss you.
PS- Since I may never be able to go shopping for a daughter, I did some virtual shopping for the photos in this post from Sweet Funky Vintage (they contacted me via twitter; it pays to @ me when I ask for recs!) and through Cool Mom Picks (I’m a fan of Kristen Chase and she pointed me toward their awesome Ultimate Baby Shower Gift Guide). I’ve linked each photo to where you can buy one for yourself. And no, I wasn’t paid for anything, so no disclaimers necessary. Be sure to tell them I sent you, though… just in case I do have that little girl!