Old English flEogan to fly -- more at FLY
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Sank heaven for leeetle girls
How did I ever become a mother of a little girl? Oh, there are plenty of better and more graphic resources on the Internet for finding out exactly how that happens (you may need a credit card handy). But as far as being the whole mother thing, I was pretty unprepared. I never studied this stuff. Never thought I would need to know this stuff. I thought I would fail the pregnancy test. But I passed the pregnancy test (without studying). When they let me go home with Jack, I gave the authority figures in the hospital a second look, as if to ask, "I can really take him home? Just like that? Don't you know I don't know how to do any of this?" We'd already done a number on naming the child (Jack has three given names, none of which are "Jack"). Luckily, even though I didn't know how to be a mother, Jack knew how to be a child and he did his job so well, he told me perfectly and in no uncertain terms what he wanted and when. Despite my many shortcomings, Jack is a great kid.
So, why not give it a second shot? Another child. Why not? Of course, I was thinking, "another son," because I'd figured that one out. A boy will likely walk before he talks. A boy will mimic the sounds of different aircraft before he says talks. (Say "mama". (silence) Mustang? "BBBBBbbbbbbbBBBBBBBBrrrrrrr" F-18? "SSSSSHHHHHHHkoooooooooo" Sikorsky Blackhawk? "CH CH CH CH CH", etc.). Well, we didn't see the tell-tale boy-tail on the ultrasound. So what? A girl. I was a girl. I remember enough of that. And before that, it's just a baby: Boy baby, girl baby, all the same.
Um, no. No, a girl is different creature: Anna, Sikorsky Blackhawk? "Mama!"
I recently saw a documentary and there seems to be some real evidence that boys and girls are different: Girls' brains have more connections between the synapses and a more highly developed isthmus (Sure, guys, nice upper body strength there, but check out my isthmus. Try to do that with your brain!). And somewhere along the way, the genders split dimorphically on reflexively locking the wrist when throwing, and, alas, girls do throw like girls. And women do parallel park like women, unless a women's ring finger is longer than her pointer finger (There's research (yes, controversial) on this. Really. But if that ring finger is longer, then we can parallel park with the best of them! Bring it on!).
Anyway, I have a little girl, too. And all indications are that she'll have no trouble parallel parking. Thank heaven for little girls.
Thank heaven also for Farbenmix. Happy 3rd Birthday, Farbenmix!!
FYI: Anna's snake-wrangling Zorra trousers and Bea sweater sewn with love by Sabine.