I couldn’t care less if it’s a boy or a girl. None of us care. We’re just so beyond tickled with this gift, we don’t care what make and model it is. I loved doing the boy and the girl things with my kids. They’re both so fun in their own way. We let our first child be a surprise. We had a gender neutral nursery and waited until the birth to find out she was a she. It should’ve been a clue that I was carrying a girl as I was pregnant from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. There was nothing cute about me. My nose was even pregnant as it spread across my face. Of course, I was so doped up by the time she was born, I don’t think I even knew what they were saying to me. They could’ve announced I’d had an ostrich and I would’ve been just as tickled with that. To say that I was not present in the moment would be an understatement. We’d gone to the hospital with a boy and girl name and boy and girl coming home outfits  and I look back and think how the younger me must’ve been crazy. How and why did I do that? If any child needed a pink nursery, it was Blair. 

I must’ve learned from my mistake and we found out what Carson was and were able to have a boyish room ready, pack the right clothing, and concentrate on one name. I’ll never forget that day we found out. Blair was 6 and was there with us for the ultrasound. She started crying when the tech said it was a boy. She didn’t even pretend to be happy about it. We had to tell her we’d go get pizza when we were done because it was getting so embarrassing. On the other hand, Davis was so proud as his entire family line would’ve hit a dead end if we hadn’t produced a Miller man-child. You would’ve thought he’d single-handedly saved the human race from extinction. So, we had one crying with her arms folded and one strutting around like a rooster and I was just happy I’d get to experience the best of both worlds. I will have to say I was much cuter carrying Carson. He was just all out front and not distributed across my entire body. 

Carson was born and we could tell almost immediately that this was a different ballgame. He was on the move early. He was full of energy, more independent, and had less time for cuddling- but when he’d stand up in his crib at night and cry, “Mama, hold you- rock together,” well, no recommendation from the pediatrician, or baby book, or team of wild horses could keep me from going to him. Even before he could walk, he was drawn to balls of any kind and anything that had a motor. When he’d see a truck or motorcycle, his face would turn red as he’d use his whole body to make the wettest motor noises with his lips. He aspired to be a garbage man so he could spend his days hanging on the back of a moving truck. We spent hours looking at Hot Wheels, superheroes, Pokémon cards, fishing lures, and Lego sets in the stores and did I mention balls? Oh, the flag football parties and stench of the sweaty boys who’d come inside for a snack. It was all so different from the glittery experience we had the first go-round but so very wonderful in its own way. That little boy has been my absolute delight for 24 years.