To be honest, I’m a little nervous. My first brush with motherhood wasn’t the nightmare I anticipated, and it definitely helped that I had a little hardy boy. But girls are so pretty and princessy. I mean, what they’re made of should tell you something – sugar and spice and everything nice.
Now don’t get me started on what boys are made of. They can run around oblivious to the large packet of poop plastered to their asses and by the time you realize, most of it would have already caked. Half the time with Tru, I’m grabbing him by the ankles to stop him from flinging himself off the bed. To date, he’s fallen off the bed/sofa/chair four times, (once resulting in a whole mouthful of blood) and bumped his head on various hard objects enough times to induce a mild concussion. To our credit, we’ve saved him more times than we can count, so I guess 4 don’t seem so bad.
But back to girls. It’s their prerogative to squirm at dirt, have sand picked out of their sandals and have big brothers give in to their every whim and fancy. They don couture and braid their hair. It’s not fair, I know, but little girls are princesses and should be treated as such.
Boy, it’s gonna be good. But as Borat Sagdiyev would say, “Is not good for me.”
