I posted a few pictures of Alaska to facebook this past month and among the comments my mom said, "I wonder if this little niece of theirs is going to be able to stand all the love and leftover wishes and hopes she's going to be smothered with." about my three brothers still at home. And as I thought about it, probably me as well.
Watching my brothers grow up wielding anything that could be called a sword and racing cars along the carpet I craved for the quietness of a sister. Time spent painting nails and curling hair. Picking out the perfect outfit for that special date and gushing over the smallest details of what he said and and what I said and what does that mean.
We adopted a baby boy and I was so excited to be a big sister I could hardly stand it. Less than a year later my mom was pregnant and I hoped it was a girl, but really, I loved babies and whatever it was would be fine. It was a boy. Finally my mom was pregnant for what would be the last time and I wanted a sister so bad my heart hurt. After being tucked into my pink sheets surrounded by my unicorn wallpaper I would creep to the window and find the brightest star and send my wish floating out the window for a baby sister. I wanted someone to dress up and braid their hair and teach them everything there is to being a girl. To have tea parties and dress-up days and to talk about boys with. No such luck. I was so mad that my youngest brother wasn't a girl that when the time came for everyone to go to the hospital to meet him I refused to go. I wasn't able to hold a grudge forever, after all, he was a baby and he was super cute, but my heart always wanted a little sister.
And then it happened. I married Steven and overnight I gained the wish of my childish heart. It couldn't have been more perfect. His sister, my sister, our sister was starting high school that fall and was growing into a young woman. It was like entering the stadium for the last half of a football game. You don't have to sit in the cold for nearly as long while the metal bench sucks all warmth out of your bum and leaves your nose frost bitten to still enjoy the final celebration of a well played game and the victory of a stunning win. Watching Megan grow into a sister I love to think of as my own has been one of the greatest of all gifts Steven could ever have given me. I wish we lived closer so that we could spend more 'regular time' together. Time where we just sit on the bed and talk about hair accessories and makeup and whatever book we're reading. Time where we walk up and down down-town streets, entering shops at will, not pressured by the hands on the clock. Time where we sing with the windows rolled down while the volume of the music keeps our less-than-desirable singing abilities as our own secret. But for now we'll have to make our memories from the frequent visits and special occasions that bring us together.
As a teenager I felt more comfortable around boys than I did girls and I began to doubt my ability to raise a girl. I had watched my mom check off the many lists of achievements that come with cub scouts and then boy scouts. She balanced a delicate schedule around sporting events, complete with home cooked meals to eat between school and practices. I knew how to raise a boy, I had seen my mom raise three of them. However, as far as raising a girl went, I had no idea. I had never seen her do that. It was just me. And believe me when I say that when I was young I was not paying any special attention to my mother's parenting techniques as she made sure my hair was pulled into braids complete with matching bows every morning.
The ultrasound at 16 weeks promised a girl and I was petrified and ecstatic all at the same time. My girl was finally here. My own girl. The little girl that I am going to teach about being a daughter of God and how to do the dishes and to have tea-parties with and play American Dolls. Yes, I realize that first and above all I need to be her momma, but there is no rule in the book that says that mommas need only be present at times of discipline and learning.
And if all things go as they ought we will spend time talking on her bed about boys even if I am her momma. I mean, seriously, who knows more about what boys want then this girl right here? I may have the handicap of growing up with only boys and not entirely knowing how to raise a daughter, but with that handicap comes a blessing. Spending so much time with the mind-baffling opposite-sex I have become quite the expert.
Like when she can't wrap her mind around the idea that the boy in 6th grade who always says, "Welcome to Miami" in an accent during math class when they're supposed to be learning complicated equations, may actually like her and while he wants to talk to her, cannot honestly think of anything else to say. And besides, doesn't it always make her laugh? And perhaps when she's having 'that relationship' - the one where the boy is so doting and charismatic but as an outsider you can see the whole thing as an abusive relationship, tearing her down one compliment at a time, perhaps we can talk about it together. There's safety in open communication.
Alaska is the daughter I have always wanted as a sister and I will be her momma first, but she will always be the embodiment of all of those left-over wishes and hopes.
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