Half-Way Through 10 Months!

Here we are friends, 20 weeks and half-way through the 10 months needed to build a baby.  Our big ultrasound was yesterday and the tech said everything looks perfect...Baby's even already got some big cheeks!  I was pretty-sure baby was healthy, but it was a huge relief to get confirmation.

We also got the news baby is a she.  McConnell Grace---after my mom.  When we first got news I was pregnant, I hoped for a boy.  But as the weeks went on, I started to think about the relationship I had with my mom and how much I would love to have that with my daughter.  It'll be fun to see this little girl have Bryan wrapped around her finger---It'll make for great blog posts!  I can just imagine how a scene of him trying to do her hair will play out.  We have many laughs ahead---that's for sure.  Plus I now get to dress her up in a UGA cheerleading outfit!

The other day I came across this poem that reminded me so much of what my mom taught me and what I hope I can now in turn teach mine.  I think I may even get it framed for her room.
   

For My Daughter

By Sarah McMane
“Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.” – Clementine Paddleford

Never play the princess when you can
be the queen:
rule the kingdom, swing a scepter,
wear a crown of gold.
Don’t dance in glass slippers,
crystal carving up your toes --
be a barefoot Amazon instead,
for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet.

Never wear only pink
when you can strut in crimson red,
sweat in heather grey, and
shimmer in sky blue,
claim the golden sun upon your hair.
Colors are for everyone,
boys and girls, men and women --
be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles,
not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside.

Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies,
fierce and fiery toothy monsters,
not merely lazy butterflies,
sweet and slow on summer days.
For you can tame the most brutish beasts
with your wily wits and charm,
and lizard scales feel just as smooth
as gossamer insect wings.

Tramp muddy through the house in
a purple tutu and cowboy boots.
Have a tea party in your overalls.
Build a fort of birch branches,
a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of
Queen Anne chairs and coverlets,
first stop on the moon.

Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls,
bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle,
not Barbie on the runway or
Disney damsels in distress --
you are much too strong to play
the simpering waif.

Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy,
paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood.
Learn to speak with both your mind and heart.
For the ground beneath will hold you, dear --
know that you are free.

And never grow a wishbone, daughter,
where your backbone ought to be.