It's a Girl! Now What?

Bring on the tutus and bows!  It's another girl (yes, that makes THREE) for the Pardys.  As if my home wasn't covered in pink and purple enough already, this bouncing baby girl is bound to bring a whole new host of cotton candy colors with her when she arrives in August.

A GIRL!

Three girls.

Let's process this, guys.  This is a lot of estrogen in one little household.  I think my husband is worried he might start growing breasts if he doesn't keep the windows open.

We are overjoyed to be welcoming another girl.  Plus, you can't beat the hand-me-down savings or the inevitable cuteness-overload photos that are bound to come from capturing the happenings of three little princesses (think of the Christmas photos! the Easter dresses! the delicious Halloween costumes that will make you gasp in awe!)  My heart can almost not handle the sweetness already.

The news of a third daughter didn't come without surprise, however.  Even those of you who put your votes in for the boy/girl poll opted to overwhelmingly anticipate it being a boy.  I join you in your shock!

As the ultrasound tech rubbed my belly with the jelly and revealed our wiggly baby (in all her black and white, other-worldly, glory) I held my husband's hand tight, not quite ready to hear the news.  The sweet one had her legs crossed politely, so it took a little while to jostle her into an immodest position.  Finally we got a clear shot, and I knew.

"Oh, that's a girl," I said definitively.

"Yes, it is!" confirmed the tech.

We smiled.  We sighed.  We stared.  It had not quite sunk in yet.

When I first got pregnant, I thought it would be a girl.  I know the statistics, and after two of the same sex babies, the odds of having the same again are quite high.  Still, both my siblings had beaten these odds by having two boys and then a girl, so I knew there was a shot for a Pardy boy in the making.

As the weeks went on, my pregnancy symptoms became drastically different than with my girls.  I had totally different cravings and aversions.  My nausea was terrible, and overall I felt much worse than with my girls.  It just felt like a whole new ballgame to me.  Surely, this had to mean it was a boy, right?  I couldn't rationalize any other simple explanation.  So, for the last several weeks, I grew quite keen on the idea of having a son.

As far as we know, this is our last baby we'll be having.  I'd be lying if I didn't say we hoped there would be a Pardy boy in the bloodline.  My husband is the last male Pardy, so it seemed natural to continue the most-fun-last-name-ever with this final child.  I began having visions of what it would be like, what our family would look like with a boy, and how I would connect differently as a mother to a son of my own.  It was weird, foreign, scary, and lovely.

And it made me wonder all the more who it was growing inside my bulging belly?

Every time I find out the gender of my babies, I'm thrown into an emotional paradox.  As the unknown turns into the known, one dream has to die in order for the other to transition into reality.  I'm thrilled for what it is.  I grieve for what it isn't.

I was not sad to find out I'm having a girl.  I was sad to find out I will not be having a boy.

We drove to go get lunch after our appointment.  I rambled on and on about the wonders of having another girl and how beautiful and magical it will be to have three daughters under one roof.  I had visions of hair-braiding slumber parties, giggling in dress-up clothes, and baking together in the kitchen like a homemade version of Little Women in real life.

I pulled into the restaurant parking lot, and burst into tears.  I had to take a moment.  I had to pause and grieve the vision of a son.  I had to let go of the idea that no tiny bow ties or hipster-mustache-onesies or matching-tuxedos-with-daddy would be in our future.  I had to allow myself to release the image of my girls creating a bond with a brother who would want to follow and protect them.

I had to say goodbye to this dream.  Deep sigh.  And I did.  And it felt great.  Well, it felt terrible and then great.  Relief is a beautiful thing.

It still took a while for the news to really reach my bones and sink into my heart (shopping for a pink dress helped!) As the reality of one dream became clearer, my tears dried up, and my heart became full as this new girl inside me began shaping the image of our family into what it was always meant to look like.

I hope you embrace my honesty for what it truly is - a human mother, grappling with the realities of life.  (Not to mention, a gut full of hormones that wreak havoc and any given time!)  I am not sad over what I've been given.  And I'm no longer sad over the dream that was lost.  This was a win/win situation, and I'm only grateful to God for the experience of pregnancy and the gift of another child.  There is no, "but..." There is no, "however..."  That's the truth.

And now?  Now, we celebrate!  In typical Pardy fashion, we wholeheartedly invite you to pray for our growing baby girl as we eagerly anticipate her August arrival with fanfare and thanksgiving!

Baby Girl Pardy #3 is on her way!  And I for one, can't wait to meet her.

Breaking the Internet and the Hearts of Mothers Everywhere: An Open Letter to Kim Kardashian

Dear Kim,

Let me admit right off the bat that I have zero expectation of you ever reading this.  I understand you are in the one-zillionth percentile of celebrities who could probably care less about normies like myself who have an opinion about our perception of who you are.  This is more than a letter, it's a format for me to use my tiny space on the web to get the word out on how I feel about your recent actions.  So, let's call a spade a spade and get that out of the way.  Fair enough.

You broke the internet this weekend.  You posed for a cover of a magazine and fully exposed your derriere for the world to gawk at.  It's not the first time you've given the masses something to get bug-eyed about, and I'm certain it won't be the last.  But, you broke more than the internet - you broke my heart.

From what I can tell, you and I only have one thing in common - but, it's a big thing (no, not that big thing, my flat booty holds no contest to your curves).  We're both mothers of girls.  We're raising females in a world where individuals with money, looks, and power are considered "successful".

We're raising girls in a society that values dominance and accumulation over integrity and virtue.  And while you and I might stand at very opposite ends of these spectrums, I would gather that you know these things to be true even more than I do.  You're in it.  You're living it.  You are the proof that these things get noticed, shared, and applauded.

But, here's where we part ways.  I don't get how you can do use your platform in that way and raise your daughter in this world.  Why, Kim, why?

There's an astronomical amount I want to teach my daughters, and not one of them has to do with the size of her ass.  I want my girls to know they can be smart and beautiful, full of integrity and authoritative, compassionate and assertive, and while they can play with their Barbies and watch Disney Princesses fall in love, they hold so much more in their unique little hearts than their body will ever ever ever be able to reflect on the outside.  They are more than their booties.  More than their someday-breasts.  More than their clothes, hair, or perfect skin.  Barbie ain't got nothin on my babies!

Kim, you are more than your backside.  You may have first been noticed in the celebrity world because of your curvy booty, but you are greater than the sum of your parts (or one part in particular) if you'd give us a chance to notice that too.  We have NO IDEA who you really are, and you aren't helping us get to know you.  In fact, your backside is preventing us from seeing who you might actually be, and the platform you've been given in this life could be used for so much more for our daughters.

We live vastly different lives, no doubt.  But, you and I have girls who would laugh and play and share silly stories about tutus and dolls if we got together, I guarantee it.  They would color pictures, sing songs, and at the end of the day the glare of the world's view of their value would melt away in the sound of their giggles.  We're not just raising girls, we're raising future mothers too.  No matter what they grow up to look like - whether they have model curves or model noses or model waistlines, let's remember this - we're raising the next generation of role models.

If you could do me and mothers everywhere a favor and just sit on that truth (pun intended, of course) then maybe you can gain some perspective of how crazy and massive this whole parenting thing really is.  I'm not here to hate you cause you're pretty or bash on you cause of the choices you've made.  This isn't some call to judgement about why I think you're a terrible person.  It's an invitation.  An invitation to engage more than your looks and your power - an invitation to take a step towards empowering the girls we're raising to someday become leaders and rockers and artists and musicians and scientists and engineers who change the world for the better.

Then maybe we'll see magazine covers of women exposing their brilliance rather than their bodies.  Maybe it's possible.  Maybe you could help.

Sincerely,

Emily Pardy