Pink, Ponytails, and Princesses

It's hard not to smile, really, knowing now that our third child is going to be a girl. We found out yesterday and I've been getting a mixture of sympathy and looks that say, "Good luck, buddy!" People have asked Megan if I'm disappointed. In a way I am, but I find it impossible to be told that I'm going to have a baby girl and be disappointed at that. I have to resign myself to the fact that I'm not going to have a son, but that's not the fault of this little girl. Now that I have her, I'm not going to waste any energy wishing she were something else.

There's something comically karmic about this. When Megan and I first talked about having children, I warned her that our chances of having a girl were slim. Girls are (were) rare on the Bittle side of the family. I only had a brother. My father only had brothers. For three generations only two girls were born to Bittles, my cousin Danille and my niece Alex, and both were outnumbered in their own households with two brothers each. So we decided that we would keep having children until we got our girl or an entire offensive line, whichever came first. So much for that.

So much, too, for my no princess rule, which was followed about as much as my rule limiting the color pink. Evidently, anything non-pink makes the girls look like boys. So with resigning myself to being the only boy in this house (even our dog is a girl) I also resign myself to a lifetime of the color pink, of near ear splitting squeals, of frilly nightgowns, of purses and high heel shoes that go clip clop loudly on the hardwood floors, of hair clips and headbands, of doll houses, and a whole world of girl stuff that they've yet to discover.

Go ahead, laugh at the stay-at-home dad who was handed three girls to take care of. I'm just barely qualified to raise children, but three girls? You know those tiny rubber bands that girls use to make their ponytails? My fingers are too fat and too clumsy to handle those. This morning I handed Clara her shoes and she said, "Daddy, these don't match what I'm wearing." Most disturbing is their favorite toy at Nana's house: their cell phones.

I'm in trouble.

I found the picture up there and liked how the little one seemed to be approaching the other two as if to say, "Here I come!" Plus, the little one reminds me of Clara. As they are all looking away, it plays on the mystery of what the girls will look like at that age. It also reminds me of the O'Brien-Wilson girls, stair-stepped like that and beautiful.

I can't wait to meet her...