I want my daughter to be sweet, but good grief!

So it's come to this.

Tuesday, I go in to the perinatologist to learn how to inject myself with insulin.

I resisted as long as I could, but my sugars just kept creeping up. And the new meds worked a little too well, making my blood sugar dip horribly low -- particularly in the middle of the night.

The last THREE nights I've had to bound out of bed twice to go down to the kitchen to stuff myself with cereal and sausage or frozen waffles and orange juice -- just to stop the shakes. This usually is around 12 or 1 and then again around 3 or 4. Waking up every three hours to feed?? Ridiculous -- my baby's not even here yet!!

All that up-and-down with my sugars has totally wiped me out. I feel like crap a lot of the time, and it's just no fun at all. I think I could suffer through it (maybe) if it was helping keep the blood sugars in check. But like I said, my sugars just continue getting higher and higher.

So insulin it is.

I'm nervous about it, because I still think in the back of my head that my body will get used to the extra help and then continue needing it even after I've delivered Sweet Miss Curve Ball.
And I also really don't relish the idea of excusing myself from meetings to go stick myself with needles in public bathrooms.

But, I must do what is best for my baby -- and what is best for me. So I will.

So just to make myself feel better, I am having some kind of warm, chocolatey, delicious thing this weekend! Sugars be damned! Heck, I might just splurge all weekend!

(Kelly, if you're reading this: Shut IT!) :-)

On having a girl...

On October 5, Lester and I officially found out we are having a girl. But I have known since well before then. How did I know, you ask?

I'll tell you.

1) My skin has been horrendous this pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Cary and Dean, my skin was flawless.

2) My hair has lost its curl and just hangs limp and lifeless. When I was pregnant with the boys, my hair was thick and lush and just epic! (How come the stretch marks stayed and the glorious hair went away?)

I present to you Exhibit A:
See? Not a curl in sight. I really hope she gives me my curls back when she vacates my uterus.


3) My sugars are OUT OF CONTROL. I am pre-diabetic, so I am always having to watch my carbs. Everyone told me pregnancy makes it worse. But when I was pregnant with the boys, my sugars were better! (Go figure!) The docs said it had to do with having more blood volume, diluting the sugars, which was great! But with this pregnancy, almost from the moment I found out I was having a baby, my sugars have been all over the place, and not in a good way. I've been switched to new meds that make me feel like crap and the doctors are threatening insulin if things don't get better. My sister says, "Your sugars are high because she's so sweet!" Maybe so, but this blood-sugar issue is a major blower.

Take all those things together and I knew - I just knew - this was a girl child inside me, already giving me fits!

So the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew, and made all the random, fleeting thoughts I'd been having about being the mother of a girl come together in a great crash of excitement and fear and love and ambivalence. Like someone was throwing cans of brightly-colored paints onto a canvas in no pattern whatsoever. That's what my brain felt like.

I think about being the mother of a girl much more deeply than I did about being the mother of boys. You'd think it'd be the other way around, as I am a girl (always and forever, in my heart, no matter how old I get). But instead, mothering sons always seemed that it would be simpler. Perhaps it's because so many people said to me, "Boys are easier," and "Boys just love their mommies!" Or maybe it's because, in some evolutionary throwback, I inherently understand how to care for a boy-child. I've had to learn over the years to be the helpmeet and partner to a man -- so I get it. (Sometimes...)

I'm completely making all this up, and there's no scientific or literary basis for any of this. I'm just guessing.
Either way, I have to admit to being just a little bit freaked out by the idea of having a daughter. And there are a million reasons why. Here are the top 3:

1) Girls are so much more complicated than boys! I know this for a fact. From everything from our clothes to our friendships, we just live our lives on a much deeper level, and emotions play a much more prevalent role in our decision-making and behavior. This is not a criticism. I actually like the fact that I am free to express my emotions and feel things. If I were a man, I'd hate to be constrained by society's stupid idea that showing or feeling emotions is somehow wrong.
But emotions, as Spock from Star Trek will attest, are messy, complicated, irrational things. They're hard enough to navigate when they belong to you. I can only imagine how hard it will be to try to help someone else navigate theirs. But...this will be my job! And I will somehow have to learn to do it. (Lord, help me.)

2) Girls bring the drama! Don't judge me for stereotyping. You know it's true! I'm not saying my boys don't have their moments of lapsing into hysterics. But I think this has more to do with being toddlers. Toddlers are, by definition, insane. Being a girl toddler? Ratchet that up a notch or two. Being a girl teenager??! GOD HELP ME. Lester also can be a drama-king at times. And my Dad, honestly, is more sentimental than my Mom in almost every way. So I know there are exceptions and that people are individuals, not ruled, necessarily by gender. But you know exactly what I'm talking about whether you are the parent of a girl or not. Girls = attitude. Girls = (usually) heightened sensitivity. Girls = drama. (Again, Lord help me!)

3) My friend and co-worker Stacey forced me to read "Cinderella Ate My Daughter," and now, of course, I'm freaked out that I am going to do something to make my innocent little daughter believe that beauty is what matters, and then that finding a man because you're beautiful is the prize. All because I put bows in her hair or paint her room a sweet shade of pink or -- sin of all sins -- buy her a doll or let her watch "The Little Mermaid"!! (Cue the scary music)...
I am all for women's rights and equality for all. But I have never been a RAGING feminist, and by that I mean, I happen to like having my door opened for me, and having Lester carry the suitcases. I also hate taking the trash out and I will not mow the lawn so long as there is a teenager in need of $10 to do it for me. It doesn't grate my nerves when my boss calls me "sweetheart" as long as I keep getting plum assignments and good bonuses at the end of the year.

But I suppose my parents did raise me so that I can carry suitcases and take out the trash or even put together Ikea furniture, if I want to or need to. (In fact, I lived by myself from college until I got married, so I had to do all those things!) I am not some helpless twit. I am smart, ambitious and hard-working. I can (usually) figure things out when I need to. I consider myself to be an attractive person, but that is not what defines me. I am a good friend to people; I am a good Mom and a good wife. I am compassionate and empathetic. I am conscientious, responsible and capable. I am funny. I am kick-ASS at Scrabble! I am a voracious reader. I enjoy a good debate (and not only about the merits of "Teen Mom" or "The Real Housewives." Heck, I just had a good debate with folks about the recent New York magazine article about women over 50 giving birth. THAT was interesting.) I am cooperative, but not a pushover. I enjoy new challenges. I am, when I want to be, an interesting person. I am beautiful because I am a child of God. But I am not what I look like on the outside.

I say all that to say that I turned out pretty OK (I think) and I had Barbies and dresses and hair bows galore. My Dad called me his "Little Princess" even on the day I got married to Lester at 34 years old. But that darn "Cinderella" book -- and Stacey's indignance about the "pinkification" of society's girls -- makes me wonder if I'll be able to do the same for my own daughter.

I want her to be all the good things I am and way, way more! I want her to not be afraid of math (not my strong suit) and not care if people think she's overweight (working on that over here, thanks). I want her to enjoy the company of men, but not NEED their approval. (And not tooooo many men. Ahem.)
I want her to be as comfortable in cleats as she is in strappy sandals. I want her to want to dissect the bugs that I shriek at when I see them in the basement. I want her to fit right in with her rough-and-tumble brothers, but not be too self-conscious to say, "That hurts!" or "No thanks. I'd rather play Barbies."

In short, I feel like I want so much for my daughter that I'm already putting pressure on her.
(Great, I'm tearing up now...Stupid pregnancy hormones!)

Smart and funny, strong and sweet, empathetic and kick-ass, ambitious and family-oriented, pleasant but not "a pleaser," athletic and intellectual, sexually-empowered (when she's 30!), but not sexually-loose or submissive. Capable, responsible, self-sufficient. But not bossy and bitchy and all "I-don't-neeeeed-no-man!" Caring, but not a pushover. Daddy's girl and Mommy's (eventual) best friend.

Am I asking too much? How can one woman (or girl-child) be all these things? And I why do I want all this for her, when I mostly just want my boys to be self-sufficient, smart, responsible, helpful and decent, compassionate human beings. Do I care all that much if they're funny? Not really. Do I care if they're athletic? Not really. (Lester may beg to differ here).

Why are the stakes so much higher for my daughter? This is tough, folks. I am struggling with all these things and she's not even here yet! Geez Louise.

One thing I really want is for us to have an authentic and real relationship. And so I know that I will need to deal with a lot of these ridiculously high expectations for her before she is old enough to have them start messing with her self-esteem and her opinion of me.

I am working on that. I really am.

My mom and I have a good relationship and though she is far from perfect (who among us is?) one thing she never did was make me feel inadequate in any way. If anything, she always made me feel comfortable in my own skin.

Maybe that's what I need to focus on more than anything else. Forget the stupid books and society's demands on girls. Forget my own issues about not being athletic or mathematically-inclined or 100-percent confident in every situation, with all kinds of people, no matter what.

If I can just do what my own Mom (and Dad, for that matter) did -- which is make her feel comfortable being exactly who she is -- I pray to God that she will turn out fine.

Whoever she is in there, stealing all my curls. :-)