Bound by the surprise of our glory days...

My husband and I went out to dinner for our anniversary the other night.  We had no sooner checked in with the hostess when the realization hit me in a flourish of sequined mini-dresses and hairspray -

It was Homecoming weekend.

We were seated (at a romantic table for two) next to a long booth filled with teenagers on their way to the semi-formal event.  So much for romance.  It was all we could do not to stare as group after group after group of high schoolers crowded into the restaurant, abuzz with the excitement of this special night out.

My husband and I differed on our opinions of the night.  He was consumed by how "pointless" the dance was (and as it turned out, his high school didn't even have a Homecoming dance), whereas I was practically giddy reliving my last Homecoming which was...God, TEN years ago.

We watched as the girls fiddled with their hair, reapplied their lip gloss, and squealed with each new arrival.
We watched as the boys looked bored and uncomfortable - and one in particular who played a video game on his iPhone for the entire meal.  (He barely even looked up and hit pause when his date's parents came over to the table to meet him.  Swear.)


I've always told people I would be totally fine if I had all boys and that having a girl wasn't that big of a deal to me.  However, it was during our dinner out this weekend that I realized the fundamental difference between boys and girls.

Well.

The other fundamental difference.

Boys don't give a crap about this kind of stuff.  One day, The Incredible Hulk is going to be sitting at the edge of the table, picking at the bread basket, and wondering how long he has to keep his corsage on all the while, his date will be obsessively trying to get his attention and checking to make sure she doesn't have lipstick on her teeth.

Dude.  I need to have a daughter.

I found myself overcome by the need to tuck a stray hair back into one girl's up-do.  To fluff the dress of another.  To tell the one who kept checking her reflection throughout dinner, "Honey, you look great."

Suddenly, I realized I wasn't just yearning for the days when I attended the dance, I'm already yearning for the days when I help someone else prepare for the dance.  The dress shopping, the hair and nail appointments, finding the perfect corsage, the perfect shoe, the perfect lipstick.  Everything.

I'm sure some of you moms of teenage girls out there are saying, "It's a nightmare, don't get too excited."  But, I am.  I have always doubted my ability to be a good mother to a girl, but this weekend I actually saw a whole realm of possibilities.  I kind of started to dream about what it would be like to have a little girl someday.  It was nice.  Refreshing.

I might not drown in a sea of testosterone after all.

Don't get me wrong - I adore being a mama to a little boy.  They're wild and full of life.  Not overly fussy and equipped with an almost natural sense of humor.

But, someday - a LONG way off - it might be nice.

Oh, and when that day comes?  No daughter of mine will leave the house wearing ANYTHING like this:



I mean, REALLY?!