Ditching Cinderella: The Daughter I’ll Never Have…

You’d think I’d be used to it by now…

Perched nervously on the ultrasound table just a few weeks ago, the hubby and I excitedly awaited the news about what we’d be adding to our brood: Boy or girl? Blue or, finally, pink?

With two boys rolling around at home already it would be easy to assume that we’d be crossing our fingers and toes for a bundle of pink this time. Plus, adding to the at times exhausting overload of bug catching and fart jokes already infiltrating our household, was the fact that this would, almost without a shadow of a doubt, be the last baby that we welcomed into our home.

Well, that adds a little emotional pressure whether we’d like to admit it or not. 

With a huddle of grandparents on standby for the big news, we clasped hands, threw our intuitions and our quiet hopes (either way) aside, and let the sonographer do her thing. It didn’t take long to sneak a peek at the goods, and admittedly my heart skipped a beat for so many reasons.

It skipped for the fact that we’d get to watch the brother dynamic in our family evolve a little further.

It skipped for the, perhaps falsely, reassuring belief that “at least we already knew what we were doing with boys.”

It skipped for the fact that the last ever gender reveal wait was over.

And finally, it skipped over the sudden loss of the daughter I’ll never know. 

Let me follow that statement quickly by saying that I’m someone who believes wholeheartedly that we are often given what we need and what is best for us in life, so that thought settled me quickly. In fact, a peace I could never have seen coming set in with the news of our third little boy.

The next few days for me were filled with excitement and expectation for the future, rather than any mourning or disappointment — something I was both surprised and thrilled by.

You see, I’d kind of assumed that on some level I’d grieve the fact that I would likely never mother a girl. My own mother and I share a steadfast and deeply important relationship, and my mother-in-law projects daily something quite extraordinary between her and her only daughter, something I always presumed I’d experience. I suppose all that will remain somewhat of a mystery to me after all. 

But this little guy, the one I’ve just learned about? We’ll he’s mine. And he’s my husband’s. And he’s my other two sons’ very special, very meant to be little brother. He may not be my princess, the girl I hoped to raise into a woman of strength and courage, but he is the boy I dream of meeting and of leading into a life of kindness, bravery, and so, so much more. 

So I’m thrilled at my third and no less special bundle of blue. I’m ditching Cinderella and mentally preparing to face more bugs and flatulence humor than I ever imagined I would in adulthood, and THAT is endlessly exciting and unique.