When I was pregnant with Emmalee, I was sure she was a boy. I knew it, without question. I only looked at boy clothing, I picked out all the decorations for a boy inspired nursery, and I was so excited. Of course it’s a boy, I thought. I needed it to be a boy. I felt like I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl. I don’t know where those feelings came from, but nonetheless, I was adamant. Then came the day of the ultrasound when I was told that my little he was a she; which turned out to be the best thing ever, because she became my Emmalee. And Emmalee is awesome. She is cute and funny and smart and emotional and dramatic and bursting at the seams with so much personality that neither of us really know what to do with it all. I love her more than life itself.
Naturally, then, when trying to conceive this little bundle I was insistent that I must have another girl. After all, the first girl turned out to be such a successful venture. And I already have everything I could ever need to take care of a little girl. I have a pink stroller/car seat travel system, a pink pack n play, a pink diaper pail, a pink bath, a pink bumbo, stacks of pink receiving blankets, burp cloths, and bibs, four entire storage bins ready to burst with pink baby clothes and socks and cute little sandals. So I spent the first four months of my pregnancy allowing myself to become completely attached to the new little girl growing inside of me. In my head, her name was Annabelle, her room was already decorated, and she and Emma were already the best of friends.
Then came the day of my ultrasound when I was told that my little she was a he.
At first, I mostly felt ridiculous for allowing myself to get so mentally carried away with thoughts and plans and dreams before I really knew who I was thinking and planning and dreaming about. Apparently, I learned nothing the first time around. And then I needed some time to let go of those thoughts and plans and dreams before I could begin to make new ones.
Now, though, I am thrilled because he will become my Oliver. And I know that he will be every bit as awesome and amazing and wonderful as Emma. Thinking about things from my new perspective, I feel like Emma would have had a difficult time watching a new girl come into our family and take over all of her old things. She is not exactly into sharing. A brother will be much less threatening, as he will get all of his own new things to use that she won’t feel any attachment to. The shop-a-holic in me sees this as an amazing opportunity. Whole new aisles of Target and racks at Gymboree have suddenly opened up to me. Buying new things is way more fun than reusing old ones.
This will be a brand new experience for me, which is both nerve wracking and exhilarating. I am still anxious about all the same things, like making it through the rest of the pregnancy, and getting a healthy little human being out of my body, and having a newborn all over again, and fitting a new little person into our daily lives, and Emma accepting this change in our family. But I’m also really, really excited. I know that my little Ollie will fit right in because he is meant to be here, and I can feel my heart doubling in size, Grinch-style, so that I can love two little people more than life itself. I can’t wait to meet him, and hold him, and be his mom. I can’t wait to share him with Emma. And, mostly, I can’t wait to have a son because it feels like the most exactly, perfectly right thing I can imagine.