What it's Like to Have a Girl

I'm trying to be more like the 2008 me, the one who actually wrote in this blog. The one who played more with her children because she had far, far less to do, and because she cared far, far less about keeping her house clean. I remember cute little old ladies who would stop me in the store and tell me to enjoy my toddlers because it all went so fast. It was endearing and annoying all at the same time, because sometimes toddlers are monotonous. And mean. And here I am, ten years later, yearning for the time when it was just me and Talmage at the zoo in the morning, a four-hour nap and a blog post to write in the afternoon, and that was it.

I'm eager to recapture a bit of that, and I think writing plays a big part. So I'm ignoring the house. I am very good at finding romantic ways to postpone housework.

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I have three big boys and a little girl. People often ask me the difference between raising girls and boys, but it's hard to say if the differences in my baby are because she's a girl or because she's Lucy. Also, a lot of the gender-traditional stereotypes are all messed up. So far, my most dramatic child has been one of my boys. Lucy is a bit more chill. And by far, my most destructive child is Miss Lucy, who has colored on the wall at least a dozen times in pencil, crayon, and sharpie. She took a black marker to our white overstuffed lounge chairs. I recently caught her scratching long lines in the leather couches with scissors. She's a girl who is eager to leave her mark. Like Banksy.

I notice little things. Lucy loves trains. Finn loves stuffed animals. Lucy loves blue. All my boys, once ready to show a preference, have chosen pink as their favorite color. Talmage once came home from kindergarten and told me, "I don't like pink anymore. Pink is a girl's color." To which I responded, "Okay, what's your new favorite color?" "Purple!" he declared proudly.

But one of my favorite qualities about Lucy is her awareness of and concern for her family. She's got tabs on where everyone is at all times. She is the tiniest mother hen, gathering her overgrown chicks. Talmage is in his room. Asher is outside. Finn is in the playroom.  Daddy is at school. And it's not until all these chicks have been properly numbered and accounted for that she feels satisfied. Finn started kindergarten this week, and the only tears have been Lucy's. When we returned to the car after dropping him off, her little voice got desperate and she urgently pleaded, "Need my Finn!"

I used to look at other families and the sometimes strong bond siblings shared. Not that my kids couldn't stand each other. They just kind of did their own thing. Well, the younger boys craved the attention of the older boys and the older boys withheld attention from the younger boys, but that's not what I wanted. Not this competition for attention from each other, from me. I wanted something to hold them together tightly, softly bound by warm feathers against a beating heart.

I wanted a Lucy.