I was certain I was going to have three boys.
I have three brothers. My Mom grew up with one sister and five brothers. My Dad was one of three boys.
My friend did the old wives tale with the string and the palm… or something like that… which said I was going to have three boys. I was on board for that, it was territory I felt I knew.
We found out the gender of each child the moment they entered this world. I had my first boy. I was convinced my second was a boy, until she was a girl. I then had another boy.
The birth of my daughter elicited so much from me. While it sent me dark and deep into post-partum depression, it also felt like a deeper initiation. Not only being a mom to two, which is all I thought at that time: but mothering a girl. Discovering the importance of providing an empowered model of being a woman in a man’s world.
I have failed her numerous times, and I have risen many times. In just the same way I have betrayed and failed myself, to then forgive myself and show up with greater devotion.
Now she is five years old. The more I learn and uncover, the deeper and richer I get to show up for myself and thus for her.
Yesterday at the pool three preteen boys had her younger brother’s toy. Without hesitation she walked right over to them with a little sway in her hips, and said, “That’s my brother’s toy” and they promptly handed it to her. We were all in awe of her bravery and courage. Even I (or the little girl within me - who is easily intimidated) didn't want to go over and initiate that conversation. On the car ride home I applauded her power and I hope she doesn’t misplace it for as long as I did.