I sometimes mourn the little boy I know I’ll never have, certain as I am that Hubs and I are one and done. But for us, a boy was not to be. At least according to my husband, who somehow always knew that we would have a little girl.
One girl. No more, no less. He just knew.
Hubs has an uncanny knack for predicting such things. His success rate for guessing the genders of his friends’ children is incredibly – almost eerily – accurate. He even foretold twin daughters for our friends, Keith and Cheryl.
In a way it was prophetic. What began as a joke to rile Keith with thoughts of being a man outnumbered in his own home became a somewhat amusing reality when Cheryl announced that she actually was eating for three. And when she later learned that both babies were girls, you could have picked my jaw up off the floor.
“How did you know?” I asked Hubs.
But he would only shrug and smile cryptically. He just did, he said. Just like he knew that we would one day have a little girl – a miniature version of me with whom I would share my blue eyes and raven hair and sassy spirit.
Given his track record, I was inclined to believe him. So, I wasn’t at all surprised when the ultrasound tech announced in the 21st week of my pregnancy that I was indeed with female – even going so far as to write, “Bank on it!” next to the telltale sign on the sonogram.
Hubs was wrong about her hair – it’s lighter than we imagined it would be, the honey-colored hue of his own as a child. But she does have my blue eyes. And my sass. Just like he always predicted she would. Even before we were married… six years ago today.
This year, June 17th marks not only our wedding anniversary, but Father’s Day as well. So, happy anniversary, babe. And happy Father’s Day, too.
You may have foreseen your daughter all those years ago, but could you have ever predicted how much you would love her? Or what a wonderful daddy you would be?
(Just so you know… I did.)