the one about what I'm trying for

Recently, my husband and I learned that I am pregnant with our third (T-H-I-R-D….3rd!) girl. Yes, my poor husband is now largely outnumbered, and no amount of steroids will get his testosterone level to match the estrogen practically flowing through the air vents in our home.

He is a very brave, manly man.

Don’t worry. We will try for a boy next time.

Wait, what?

Does anyone ever realize how silly that sounds? Now, I know that there are some baby books out there that tell you how to “choose” your child’s sex based on timing and all kinds of complicated algorithms, but in our house, we believe that God chooses our child…like, literally hand picks the one that will be ours.

And I’m not about to try and outsmart God.

So trying for a boy is kind of like trying for a certain kind of weather tomorrow. We simply can’t control these things.

Also? Saying, “Oh well, we will just try for a boy next time” is kind of like saying, “Oh well. We probably won’t like this kid enough since she’s a girl. Hope we have better luck next time.”

Honestly, as with most things I dissect on this blog, it is simply just something to say. It is a way to make conversation. It is a response when you can’t think of anything else. I am not offended, and I am not targeting you if you have ever said it to me.

However, it makes me stop and think each time I hear it. And with every mention of it, I hone in on what exactly I am trying for with each pregnancy.

I am trying for a healthy baby.

But if I can’t have a healthy baby, I am trying for the grace and patience and courage and wisdom to accept whatever challenges we as a family may face.

I am trying for a happy child.

A child who giggles and plays and delights in fireflies in June and snowflakes on her tongue in December. A child who jumps with excitement and loves a good underdog on the swings.

I am trying for a child who will love me unconditionally.

When I’m grouchy. When I’m tired. When I fail her over and again. When I’m not Pinterest-worthy. When I’m not worthy at all.

I am trying for freckles and crinkle noses and chubby cheeks and hair I can run my fingers through.

And it could be a boy or a girl, but I am trying for the cutest darn baby booty I ever did see.

All of that is what I am trying for.

I love my daughters. They are spunky and wily. They love dresses and princesses and dirt and worms. They are beautiful and charming and really, really ornery.

And I’m so excited to be having another one.

Having “one of each” is not my ultimate goal. Experiencing “the best of both worlds” will not make me more of a mother than I was before. Would it be fun? Sure! But this house full of girls has managed to have a pretty good time so far.

I know mothers of boys love their sons. I know fathers of boys have a special bond.