Rinse and Spit

Finding out we were having a girl was something of a shock. Hannah started out as one of two. The other infant/baby/embyo/zygote/WHATEVER didn't make it past 7 weeks. Bryan's family history had male twins, so we naturally thought we were having a boy. Then we found out (fine, Bryan found out. I had to be shown in great, zoomed-in detail the "lack of winkie" and even then I had a hard time seeing what wasn't there) we were having a girl. I have to admit, I was pretty freaked out. Bryan was, too, but quickly got over it (what can I say, he's a much more relaxed person than his delightful wife). But having lived through the teenage years, I had something of an inkling the crap this child 'o mine would be going through. I worried how I would help her. I began to plan all the things I would teach this little body snatcher who insisted on kicking my ribs and hiccuping through the night. I thought about how I would teach her to become a caring young woman who accepted everyone, no matter what their race, religion, physicality, mental capacity, sexual preference, gender, or social status happened to be. I thought about how I might share my love of books and reading, how to plan, budget, and prepare a meal, and how to do her hair, if she perchance inherited my curly locks. I would teach her to stick up for the underdog and to befriend the friendless. I planned to do my best to help her become whatever it is she decides to be. What I did not anticipate are all the small things I would teach her on a day-to-day basis.

I did not think about how to explain that there are two legs in a pair of pants, not one that you cram both of your legs through. I did not think about the stickers I would reward her for peeing on the potty. I did not think that I, too, would receive stickers when I pee on the potty in her presence. I imagined fun bathtime and mom/daughter bonding over hair bows and pretty barrettes. I did not think that bathtime and hair brushing would be fought on a battlefield in our too-small bathroom. And, I did not think that I would be teaching her how to spit her toothpaste into the sink and not all over her clean clothes, or her naked belly, or onto the bathroom floor.

The big things are still on my mind. I think and worry about the school system in KCMO, how we will afford college (and that it might not be so bad if she pays for it on her own), if she's getting enough vegetables, and that someday, she might meet someone, fall in love, and start her own family. I imagine family vacations that go off without a hitch, of family meals where we laugh and enjoy our food instead of begging Hannah to just try one bite, giving up, and making her a piece of toast. I dream of movies we'll both enjoy watching together and not just gritting my teeth and watching Nemo for the one millionth time (I swear, we've watched it that many times, no exaggeration, not even a little bit). But, tonight as I watched a big mouthful of spitty toothpaste run down Hannah's chin and onto her (thankfully nako) chest, I laughed and noticed one of the things I never thought I'd think about.