At peace with pink
I’ve said this on more than one occasion to lots of different people. When the ultrasound tech told us that Zoey was a girl, I bit my lip and smiled at my husband and sucked in a deep breath.
Later, I went home and cried privately. I wasn’t sure what I would do with a girl. What kind of mother could I be to a girl?
I was always the kind of girl who preferred the company of guys. Not that I was a tomboy, but just that I always valued the no bullshit kind of way that men seem to see the world.
I thought I would be a perfect “boys” mom.
After the ultrasound, everything suddenly turned pink. I rebelled and painted her nursery yellow. The carseat and stroller I picked were blue.
As if I had some kind of magic color control over dealing with her gender.
Almost six years later, her favorite color is pink.
I have another girl, who will be 2 in May.
I’ve given up on photo sessions with either of them in adorable outfits.
But today, Zoey had a rough day. She felt left out on the bus during the field trip and cried a little to me. I hugged her hard and fed her pickles.
I selfishly suggested that both girls dress up like princesses and go outside to twirl in the sun to make the day a little happier. The sun was starting to do that thing that makes my shutter finger itchy.
She liked that idea and I held my breath that she’d actually let me put her hair up.
They looked perfectly pink and girly as they got filthy in the yard. They looked messy and girly and happy.
It was just the right balance for me, a mother of girls.