When I was growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a mom.
I had it all figured out: I would have three sons and then a daughter.
We would have lots of loud weekends full of sports games, the house would always be full of hungry boys, and I would get to be that mom who was beloved and spoiled by the men in her home.
Then, while I was busy making plans and God was giggling, I found out I was having a baby girl in the winter of 2007.
Well, wasn’t that a monkey wrench in my perfect plan?
I’ve always been a terrible girl. I can’t contour. I can’t match the perfect outfit. My hair is always a mess. How was I supposed to give motherly advice to
a daughter three daughters when I didn’t even handle high heels?
How was I supposed to give them everything that they needed as women when I was still figuring out how to be one when I started having babies at 24?
How was I supposed to be OK with never having that blessed mother-son bond – no girlfriends to drill, no mother-son dance at his wedding, no teenaged boy looking for me in the stands after he’s won a football game?
I remember being so angry with God after finding out that our last baby was another girl. It wasn’t that I wasn’t excited for another healthy baby girl – I was. I was so grateful that we were able to bring another life into the world.
But part of me mourned the son, the life, that I would never have, and that made me angry.
I was driving down a back road one day on my way home and I passed a farm with a group of teenage boys standing around a fire pit, getting ready for a typical Colorado country Friday night and I just started to cry. Tears, hot and angry, streamed down my face as I cried to God “Why is this so painful? Why can’t I get over this feeling of missing out, of things that can never be?” And I begged Him to take the pain, just take it away so I could be happy and love the life He had given me.
Even though it was scary, even though I had no idea what I was doing, and even though I knew part of me would always miss what I couldn’t have, I wanted Him to take the anger and the pain of it away from me so I could truly enjoy the children He had given me.
Thankfully, God gets the complicated, twisty emotions that come along with being a parent. He held my hand through that journey, He took the pain away, and He has been there every step of the way on this #girlmom journey, turning my anger into absolute joy.
What I Love About Being a Girl Mom
My girls are constant movement and chaos. I don’t know if that is how all girls are or if it’s just because I always thought I would be a boy mom and that’s how I raised them.
They are rough and tumble.
They are bike rides and scooter races and skinned knees and squealing – so. much. squealing. The noise level is always 100% and nearly constant.
They are late night dance parties and early morning games of tag.
There’s a lot less crying than I imagined, though there are plenty of tears.
They are constantly imagining new games, new worlds, and new ways to play. They are always building something or creating something new – whether that be Lego structures, fairy gardens in the yard, or new outfits for their dolls. Their imaginations and creativity have no bounds.
They are pure joy and light wrapped in sparkles and and sundresses.
I love that my girls are always up for anything and challenge me to feel the same way. They make me brave, and for that, I am grateful.
*As I was writing this post, it turned into something much bigger than I expected. Both in word count and in reflection and content. Because of that, I have broken it up into a series – this is Part One. In the meantime, I hope you will join me on Instagram and follow along with my #GirlMom journey there!*