Daughter

I was convinced Ella was a boy. In fact, I hoped she was. I can look back at my conviction now with a smile and know that it was founded out of fear—my reasoning following along these lines: "I only know how to do boys!" Apparently God thought differently.

You would think, that being a girl would alleviate some of my intrepidation . . . quite the contrary. It terrified me (prior to Ella's arrival that is). My first thought at the revealing ultrasound, after recovering from shock, was 'Oh God, what are you thinking? I am going to ruin her! Look at me . . . I'm a mess!' And I am, in all honesty . . . but fortunately, my Heavenly Father seems to specialize in messes—certainly in the daily redemption of them.

And so at twenty-two weeks pregnant, my thinking shifted from blue to pink. I was on shaky ground, let me assure you. For those of you who know me, I am not a fan of pink . . . never have been. (God must have found this very amusing). I saw myself as the ideal person to wrangle an armload of boys. And had that been the case, I am sure I would have been fine. However, God looked at me in all of my attempted self assurance, and saw the reality of my broken need to be loved more than needed . . . to be held, (something my son had never really done). And so he gave me a daughter. He gave me Ella.

She came out reaching for me, and when she settled on my chest for the first time, she literal pulled into me and instantly quit crying. I, of course, instantly began, and realized for the first time just what I would have missed had God given me what I thought I wanted. . .

My daughter is asleep in her chair next to me as I write this, and every once in awhile she grunts contentedly . . . I've not the slightest inkling of her dreams, but I can't help but sigh over her in wonder. She is dressed almost entirely in pink (I know, I know, laugh). I simply can't get enough of her.

At times, I am still afraid of her . . . afraid of the perceptive girl she will be, the way she will look at me and know if I am telling the truth. I am afraid of the emotional and creative young woman she will become; how she will hate me passionately at times, and then love me with equal passion. I am afraid of pushing her too hard, of not pushing her hard enough; of not letting her make her own mistakes, and of watching her repeat mine. I am afraid for her . . . of the pain she will experience that I cannot shield her from; for the dreams that will never be realized; of the love she will undoubtedly be denied, and of the love that will be reciprocated and make her another's.

But tonight . . . tonight I am going to take a deep breath and just be thankful. I'll put the future on hold a little bit longer and hold my baby. This I know for certain: God knew exactly what he was doing with my heart when He gave me a girl . . . and I am irrevocably altered . . . for the best.