My daughter

“I would infinitely prefer a daughter. If I had a son, I would leave him at the A&P or some other big advertising place where somebody who needs a kid would find him and he would be all right. … A daughter would be drawn to me. A daughter would want to help me.
Girls are infinitely more complicated than boys, and women more than men. And there’s no doubt about that. We just don’t like to think about it. Certainly the men don’t like to think about it. I have lived my whole life with a dream daughter.”  –Maurice Sendak

It’s strange, the things one imagines of an unborn child.  Will she sport my freckles, her father’s mouth, or her paternal grandmother’s blue-blue eyes?  Will she be smart, shy, stubborn, silly, and/or otherwise character-filled?  She’s been a mystery for so long, it seems, and yet she’s getting more real every day: she has a bedroom now, complete with a bed and curtains and an overfull bookcase.  This is more than my bedroom has–we’re still looking for the perfect curtains, after 4.5 years of mis-matched and stained hand-me-downs from our past house.  She has a car seat and a stroller and a plush rocking cow.  She still doesn’t have a name.

Ever since a couple of weeks ago, when she was breech (she’s since flipped), I’ve become obsessed with trying to identify her various body parts through my torso–a strange and frustrating practice that leaves me frowning and jabbing myself in the belly, awkwardly, and at random moments throughout the day and night.  Somehow this internal examination makes her more real, too; I’m now not only interested in how she’s doing in there: I have become increasingly concerned with what she’s doing in there, and how on earth she’s going to come out.

One of my best friends gave birth last Tuesday, 4 weeks early, to a healthy little girl.   She had a less-than-comfortable pregnancy, especially toward the end, and I’m glad she’s out of the woods now, and into those new and different woods that I have yet to experience.  When I received the first text from her husband that she was going into labor, and then saw that first (only, thus far) blurry picture of be-hatted little Kira, I felt oddly impatient for my own daughter.  Even with her head and knees correctly or incorrectly identified through my torso, the reality of my own child has always been in question.  I very much want to see her in person, to touch her and hear her to make sure she’s really real.

2 thoughts on “My daughter”

  1. Dear Margot, Your last blog brought tears of Joy to my eyes as I was recalling my last weeks of Pregnancy with your Mom. We didn’t have ultra sound in those days but I felt happy with the certainty of knowing that Jan was going to have a baby sister. As the days went by, albeit slowly, I felt a wonderful contentment in my whole being. You have through your writing awakened a flood of happy feelings I had so long ago.. Thank you. I can hardly wait to hold my new little great grandaughter in my arms. Love, Grammy

    1. The most wonderful thing about writing here are the comments from you, and the rest of the family. I feel so close to you all right now: my strong and beautiful matriarchs! My goal is to write much more often, now that I’m really in the home stretch, so keep reading. I cannot wait to introduce you to this new person, whenever she takes it upon herself to arrive. Love.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s