"How's the campaign going?"
It's the question I get most often. It's also the question I'm never quite sure how to answer.
Good? ... Great! ... Your guess is as good as mine. ... We'll see May 17th!
The truth - I suppose - all depends on what you're measuring.
This weekend we hosted a Winter ONE-derland party in honor of Felix's first birthday. Considering this child was born during a snow, it seemed like an appropriate theme. Well, the weather had other plans and it was 70 and sunny! I could have hosted the dang party outside!
For my 30th birthday, I created a list of 30 things I wanted to do. One was to write a historical fiction short story. This is the story and as Ruby keeps calling to me here lately. I thought I'd share it here.
One of Nicholas's New Year's resolutions was to try freezer meals. He'd prepped meals for the week on and off through 2015 and wanted to see how it would work to prepare an entire month's worth. Then, we could just pull a meal from the deep freeze, throw it in the crockpot, and on a busy day dinner would be waiting for us.
Last week, we found out the sex of our baby. The only tears shed this time were when the nurse found the heartbeat. After an intense week surrounding the due date of the baby we lost in April, finding out whether or not this baby was a boy or girl seemed so secondary to confirming it was still alive and healthy.
Of course, that was until I saw the “boy parts” on that giant flat screen television.
Then, I was facing the reality of THREE sons. All boys. No daughters.
I encountered it time and time again with Amos. You see I have a thing about cutting your baby’s hair anyway. I think as soon as you cut their hair they’re not your baby anymore. Suddenly, they look so grownup and then everyone starts telling them what a big boy they are and then before you know it they’re in college.
No, thank you.
Plus, Amos just got cuter and cuter the longer his hair got and it got pretty dang long.
Over and over again, people would ask, “Don’t people think he’s a girl!?!” Or family and friends who jokingly call him girl names and tell him what a pretty girl he was.
Apparently, the mere idea that someone would confuse my little boy for a little girl was supposed to scare me into cutting it all off immediately.
I hear a similar thread of conversation among my friend’s with newborns. There is great concern with the perceived gender of outfits and bows and headbands and preventing confusion at all costs.
I just don’t get it.
