Sugar and spice and everything nice?

Growing up I always envisioned that I’d be a mom to boys.  I’m not sure why, but I assumed my house would be filled with loud, messy boys, and so when I ended up having all girls, I was surprised.  But what was more surprising is that life with all girls is anything by girly.  Sure, we’ve got dolls and headbands and drama, and yes, I know that purple is Justin Bieber’s favorite color, but we’ve also had our share of broken bones and stitches and potty words.

Just 8 years in, we’ve already seen the inside of the pediatric ER a few times.  I have found my girls wrestling like a couple of frat boys, and I pretty regularly find my oldest has monkey-climbed to the top of the 9-foot column in our living room.  In a particularly embarrassing parental moment I had to apologize to a very nice couple for my daughter kissing their son at school.  A surprisingly large amount of time is spent building bug habitats during our summer vacation.  My middle one burps like a drunken sailor while the oldest takes pride in her ability to burp on demand, and there is an ongoing debate in my house about which is the more important burp virtue.  And oh, the potty talk!  Who knew little girls would find the words “fart” and “poop” so funny?  I regularly hear things like, “Hey Mom, smell my breath and tell me what I ate!”  Did that just come from that sweet looking curly-haired, doe-eyed angel?  Such a weird dichotomy, these 3 girls of mine.

I don’t recall getting stitches and digging up worms as a young girl and I certainly didn’t kiss any boys in elementary school.  They were gross.  I’m discovering that my girls can be at once lovely and delicate and also find joy in being rough and crass.  My preconceived notions about parenting girls have been proven wrong, which means (1) my girls are way cooler than I was as a kid, and (2) we’re in for an interesting ride.