You and I are never destined to meet, it seems. It’s a finality that I’m having a hard time accepting, since for much of my life, I have thought of you.
You see, I grew up with two younger brothers. Your would-be uncles were fun, silly, annoying, and… boys. I loved helping my mom take care of them. Even though I was slightly mad at her after each birth since I thought I wanted a sister so badly, I soon realized I was better off with brothers. Being somewhat of a tomboy, it fit.
My husband, who would be your Daddy, also grew up with two brothers. In fact, I was the first girl born into my family in 100 years. We thought having boy babies was inevitable, and having girls just wasn’t on the table.
We were proven wrong when our daughter was born in January 2015. And again, when another girl arrived in August 2016.
We were ecstatic and loved our girls dearly. But when we took each one home, I knew, the next time around, we’d have you. Even though, after the second child, I honestly didn’t know if I could do it again.
I want to be clear. I love my girls. They’ve become a part of me, and I can’t even imagine my life without them.
But so often, I’ve pictured you. I’ve imagined you with dirty blonde hair and a sweet, mischievous smile. I’ve dreamed of watching you play sports, and walking you onto the field for your senior day of high school football, something I watched my own mother do with my brothers. I avoided thinking about when you would begin dating, since I knew I’d have a really hard time sharing you.
I’ve wondered if you’d pick up golf, like your Daddy. I often smiled, thinking of him taking you to the golf course, something he does with our girls now.
I’ve thought about who your favorite teams would be. Would you be a die-hard Georgia fan, like Daddy? Or would you grow up rooting for Alabama or Auburn since we ended up living in Birmingham?
I’ve also thought about how our two girls would react to having a boy in the house, and I came to the conclusion they’d love and protect you just as I did my own brothers.
I write this knowing that our third child is growing in my belly. And that baby, I recently found out, is our third daughter.
I’m happy, don’t get me wrong. But as I celebrate adding another girl to our family, I also grieve the fact that I’ll never have you. You see, I’m what they call “advanced maternal age,” and therefore, this is probably it for us.
While I hope and pray for a healthy baby girl, I still think of you. Perhaps, if it’s in the cards, we will meet one day. But if not, you’ll always exist, even if only in my dreams.