I've had several premonitions (yes, you read that right), even years before I was pregnant, that Scott and I were going to have a little lady. When I learned we were expecting, I just assumed it was a girl. I had her name, nursery theme, arguments for why I'm right, and her life plan through her mid-thirties all worked out.
And then it was a boy.
Blue. That's about all that came to mind. And the fact that we don't have to fund a wedding. You could say I wasn't mentally prepared for a little dude. What do we name him? How do we decorate? What am I going to DO with a little boy?
Despite being terrified of him and his little penis, I am completely smitten. I've seen him a million times, and I'm already dreading the day when he's no longer a mama's boy. I've heard little boys love their Mommy's, and I'm looking very forward to being the first girl he falls in love with...the feeling is mutual, little man.
But that's tomorrow. Today, we must name him. Boys? I got nothing. My husband claims I have too many associations with boy's names that rule out many otherwise excellent selections. What can I say, I was greatly affected by the men who have passed through my life. Or I'm just a reformed slut. Don't judge.
Then there's the nursery. I immediately went the route of blue with a primary color scheme, and just as quickly decided I don't want a box of crayolas throwing up anywhere in my house. So, I'm working with a yellow to create something spectacular that doesn't imply he could go either way. That's for him to decide, not my decorating skills.
The rest will have to come in time as I get to know my little guy, and learn the ways of mothering. While it's not what I expected, I couldn't have it any other way. He's my shining light, the sweet baby boy who keeps me company all day, and I can't wait to meet him.
And, of course, for the day he reads this and is mortified by me, his mother.