Four of a Kind
A word fitly spoken is
like
apples of gold in
pictures of silver.
Proverbs 25:11
We didn't care if our first child was a boy or a girl. We
prepared a gender-neutral nursery and layette with kelly green carpet, and
chose the name "Jordan," which would work either way.
Jordan Jennifer it was. And what a girl! We've never looked
back.
Same thing with No. 2. Our baby stuff was equal opportunity,
M/F. Again we picked out a unisex name Neely which is a grandma's maiden
name to boot.
Neely Susan it was. Again, what a girl! Again, we've never
looked back.
Then came the third pregnancy. My husband honestly didn't
care what flavor we got. But I was boy-crazy this time, dreaming about frogs in
pockets and stuff.
But Eden Elizabeth it was.
Today, I can't imagine life without "Beamer" nicknamed for
the way she smiles like a sunbeam. She is the prettiest, funniest, smartest,
most creative, most athletic girl in the world.
However . . . in the hospital . . . it's embarrassing . . .
but I cried myself to sleep.
At about 5 a.m., I was awakened by the phlebotomist. He
needed a post-partum blood sample. He was tall, dark and handsome in a white
lab coat, mysterious in the dim light.
He greeted me, quietly and gently. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm sad," I replied. "I just had our third daughter, but I
had really wanted a son."
He was silent as he finished his work, then looked at me
kindly and said:
"Well, I think we just have to play the hand we're dealt."
And he was gone.
Wow! What words of wisdom!
I cheered up. Thanks. I needed that.
Now fast-forward 12 years. We had just found out we were
going to have a fourth child. Naturally, I thought it would be poetic justice
if this "tail-ender" were a boy.
But on the way to break the news to my husband, I saw a car
with this license plate: "JST A GRL." Hmm. "Just" a girl, eh? As in, it's
a "gift" baby late in life, but it's not as good a gift as a baby boy would be?
Some feminist I was!
Tests confirmed it: a fourth daughter.
OK. Play the hand you're dealt. That's the line I took.
I figured we could find a set of cute boy quadruplets named
Williams for our four girls to marry in a quadruple-ring ceremony. Then I'd
only have to get El Magnifico into a tux for one wedding, and we could keep the
Williams name going, as if there aren't already five million Williamses running
around anyway.
Since my husband's dad would now have six granddaughters and
no grandsons, I'd just have to be his spin doctor and teach him to say he is
not "0 for 6," but "6 for 6."
We'd put up a sign at our house: "Welcome to Estrogen
Acres."
We'll post a "Beware of Raging Female Hormones" sign at the
front door.
We'll boast that the streetlights around our house are lit
by estrogen gas.
So yes, I joked. But secretly, I was still sad. I still
wished we were having a boy.
Then we went out to Las Vegas, of all places, considering
our G-rated family. My husband was giving a business speech on "planning," of
all topics, considering we had a "midlife surprise" baby on the way.
He got in a lot of cheap jokes about his qualifications to speak about
"planning." Hardy har har.
Anyway, while waddling through the casino to get to a
restaurant, trying to look inconspicuous with my jumbo belly out front and my
shoes in my hand since my feet had swollen to the size of the nearby Hoover
Dam, I waddled past a poker table.
Someone was just then exclaiming, "Four of a kind? Wow!
That's a GOOD HAND!"
I stopped in mid-waddle.
Four of a kind . . . in my case, four daughters.
I grinned. Wow! I've been dealt a GOOD HAND!
Wise words, spoken with the perfect timing of the Master
Dealer.
Thanks. I needed that. And I'm playing this hand with
everything I've got.
