I grew up in a house of boys. I remember waking up one morning when I was about 7. My grams was at my house, which was odd first thing in the morning. She told us that my mom and dad were at the hospital and my mom was having a baby. We didn’t know yet if it was a boy or a girl.
My mom called a little while later from the hospital and told me that it was another boy. With two brothers already, the third was enough to push me right over the edge! I remember crying and being so disappointed that I didn’t get a sister. My baby brother grew on me after awhile and didn’t turn out to be as horrible as I had imagined.
Now, with a family of my own, it is the opposite. We are mostly girls. (And one long-haired boy, with the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen, that often gets mistaken for a girl). It is so fun to watch all the girlie-ness unfold. We have more dolls, hair bows, and lip gloss than you can count. I do secretly fear their teenage years, but for now I’m enjoying all the sweetness. Paisley, my oldest, was so excited to have a baby sister. How lucky is she to have two!
