First off… I must apologize for my absence. This past week of pregnancy has hit me hard and I’ve been so so tired (and hit with another cold). Sleeping and peeing is kinda all I’ve felt capable of, with a few excursions and final commitments thrown in.
I have a few fun collaborations to throw your way and can’t wait to share the birth of Baby Murphy #2, so just hang in there with me… I’ve slowed down but haven’t crawled into bed completely .
In about two weeks, I’m about to have a girl… and I must admit… it comes with fears I didn’t feel for my son Parker. It’s so strange, because even as I sit here and try to make sense of it in writing… I’m wondering if I make sense at all. Maybe you can tell me!
I was never the girl that was “girl crazy”. After Parker arrived, I can’t even tell you how many people asked me, “how much do you want a girl now?”, and my answer was always, “well, it would be great… but I’d be happy with two boys!”.
Maybe it’s because I was such a tomboy myself, and friends to more boys growing up than even my parents are probably aware of. I was an athlete, painfully small (freshman year in high school, not even 5′ tall and puberty no where in sight), and although very close to and very much a part of a great group of females in my sport… I felt a little bit “outside the club” until I hit my stride much, much later… into my late twenties. Boys were my comfort zone (not in dating, mind you… that didn’t happen until MUCH later either… you’ll see why in Part 2).
Is it because I possess the irrational belief that it seems much easier to teach my son to be a good man, than to teach my daughter to avoid the bad ones? Most every girl I know (including myself), has been through some crappy experience, putting their parents through the pain and misery of seeing their little girl lose their mind over some guy who refused to grow up (note to future daughter… don’t date until you’re 30). Not to say that men don’t go through their fair share of shitty partners too… but girls… OH GIRLS… the mess we make of ourselves seems to take so much longer to clear up, clean out, and make shiny and new… than any dude feels necessary to do.
Maybe it’s a fear of geography. I live in LA… where the opposite of role models abound. Who do I turn to (other than baby girl’s “aunties”… more on them later). It’s not that there aren’t amazing women here, but we are so close to the epicenter of absolute frivolity (cue the new E! standout series “Rich Kids of Beverly Hills”). GAH! How do I shelter her from the Kardashians of the world until she is old enough to UNDERSTAND the insanity… yet remain sane… especially as they drive down the street in plain sight in their range rovers
Oh MAN… I just want to raise a confident, generous, loving girl… but why oh why do I feel that this will be tougher than a boy?
I think I need to start creating a list of role models now… women who inspire, and love, and give, and create and make me proud to be the gender that I am! I know there is a book that does something similar, but maybe I can begin to write one of my own… stories of women that I know… that she will know too.
… which leads me to Part 2… (coming Friday to a blog near you ).