Letting Go
I always wanted a little girl. Growing up playing house, dreaming of being a mother someday, I always pictured a daughter. Playing Barbies, carrying around Cabbage Patch Kids, baking cookies, braiding hair, and singing every Disney princess song ever written.
G-I-R-L.
Spoiler alert: I did NOT have a girl. I had, not one, not two, but THREE boys.
When we found out our first was a boy, I was sad for 0.5 seconds. With your first, you’re so elated to be pregnant that you almost don’t care if this little miracle is a boy or a girl. I pictured a big brother taking care of a little sister; a little version of my husband that could play catch and go camping and get sweaty. I had fun painting his nursery blue, picking out “Little Rock Star” outfits, and dreaming of being a Soccer Mom someday. In fact, choosing his name seemed easy because we had only ever thought of ONE boy name that we could both agree on: Jackson Dean.
Little Jackson was 17 months old when we found out we were pregnant again. This pregnancy was so different than my first – severe morning sickness, weight loss, a strange antibody found in my blood tests – that I was so SURE this one was a girl. During my ultrasound at 18 weeks, the tech put the doppler on my belly and immediately declared, “It’s a boy!” and I began to cry. Not the sobbing kind of cry but more like the involuntary, slow and steady stream of tears.
My reaction to a second little boy was much different than the first. I cried for about two weeks after the ultrasound appointment. My husband even asked my doctor if my behavior was “normal”. When we announced the gender to our parents, I specifically remember having a hard time making eye contact with anyone, for fear of bursting into uncontrollable tears.
We had a hard time choosing his name because we had only ever agreed on ONE name… and that was used for big brother! We didn’t even agree on the name until a few weeks before he was born: Bennett Lee. My amazing family and friends did a fabulous job of celebrating this pregnancy just as much as the first. Even though I needed very little in the way of baby supplies or clothing, I was blessed with two baby showers and continually reminded that EVERY baby is a blessing.
Upon becoming pregnant with baby number three, I knew I had to prepare myself for the results of the gender. At 11 weeks, my Ob offered genetic testing that would also find out the gender and I agreed immediately. A few weeks later, Dan and I were sitting at brunch when I got the call from the nurse that baby #3 was another boy.
Initially, I shut down. I didn’t cry. I didn’t complain. I just didn’t talk. To anyone. I knew that if I began to open up about my disappointment, the flood gates might never close.
For those of you who have never battled what I learned to be called “Gender Disappointment,” or even cared whether you had a boy or girl, you might be sitting there wondering why in the HELL someone would ever be disappointed about being pregnant with a healthy baby. It is for this reason that I had a hard time talking about my feelings… I felt GUILTY for even complaining.
Side note: if you happen to be battling Gender Disappointment yourself, or know someone who is, I highly recommend this book. A dear friend of mine gifted it to me - she knew exactly what I needed to hear at the exact time I needed to hear it.
What I’ve learned through this process is that sometimes letting go of expectations, dreams, or plans, can be one of the hardest parts of growing up and maturing.
“I had to let go of my daughter… the daughter I never had.”
It’s funny to compare a chronic illness to the loss of an imaginary child but that’s kind of EXACTLY how it feels. I had dreams and plans of how this year – my LIFE – would play out. And it has been quite the opposite. My career, goals, volunteer commitments, desires were all put on hold while my health became my focal point.
I vividly remember another time in my life where I had to let go of the plans I had for my future - the images of what I thought my life would look like, who I thought I would marry, where I thought I would end up. And that is no easy task.
My dad was in the Army for over 20 years. Growing up, we moved around… a lot. To sum it up, I attended 2 elementary schools, 2 middle schools, and 3 high schools. Our final move was in the summer after my freshman year in high school. At that point, my dad had retired from the military and I had zero intentions of ever moving again. I had a best friend, a boyfriend, a support circle, and a plan. So after we returned from a family vacation to Texas, I was absolutely shocked when my parents sat me down to say we would be moving. Again. In 2 weeks.
Prior to this year, that was probably the hardest time in my life. Saying goodbye to my friends, my future, even my own SISTER was extremely difficult. All I could focus on was moving back to Florida as soon as I graduated high school. But that never happened. For reasons outside of my control, moving to Florida (away from my mother who had just undergone back surgery), was not an option. And that changed the trajectory of my life forever.
Had I moved to Florida that summer, I would have never fallen in love with my husband. In fact, I ran into him a few weeks after my “supposed move” and I still remember the look on his face when he saw me. Stunned, he said, “I thought you were moving to Florida!” And that was my clue that he MIGHT have feelings for me and that MAYBE I should pursue him. Boy, was I right!
I still have times where my heart hurts for a little girl - especially when I see friends dress up their little princesses in bows and ruffles and all things pink. But I know God’s plan is even better than I could ever imagine. There is an amazing connection between my boys - one that could never be duplicated. I am queen of my castle and never have to be jealous of the attention my husband WOULD have been giving our daughter. And, most importantly, my almost non-existent patience would have surely turned my daughter against me in the end.
So really, I’m saving TONS of money on the clothes I would have bought her, the beauty treatments I would have treated her to, and the years of therapy I would have inflicted upon her.
{insert laughing emoji and a big, fat face palm}
But in all seriousness, even though the process of letting go can feel impossible and never ending, the reward can be so light and free and completely satisfying.
What do you need to let go of today?
