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The Perfect Family by Shel Franco Almost every family that I knew echoed, “Father, Mother, Sister, Brother.” So naturally, I expected to know the joys of a daughter.

“Aren’t you going to try for a girl?” friends asked in disbelief. I feverishly defended my decision to stop having children. “We only ever wanted two kids. Really. I’m thrilled with my boys.” But, in the back of my mind, I wondered who I was really trying to convince.

I was the product of a genderly balanced family. Saturdays gushed with the excitement of mother-daughter shopping trips, while my brother and father roughed it up at the hockey rink. My mother glowed as my Brownie troop leader. My father shined as my brother’s soccer coach. Almost every family that I knew echoed, “Father, Mother, Sister, Brother.”

So naturally, I expected to know the joys of a daughter. I longingly strolled through department stores, running my fingers over velvet dresses and ruffled socks. I daydreamed about giddy conversations after her first date, and how beautiful she would look on her wedding day. Everywhere I went, I noticed the mother/daughter teams around me. When I watched my girlfriends interact with their daughters, I could feel my heart race. I couldn’t wait to mother my little girl.

After my first-born was a son, I redesigned my image of motherhood and put the dresses and lace on hold. Before too long, I found myself knee deep in baseballs, fire engines and ferocious beasts. The house was a sea of blue. Then, I noticed the growing connection between my husband and son. “Mommy can’t pitch good like you, Dad,” my son would protest, as I shuffled aside. I knew when I played out of my league.

By the time my son turned two, I desired a connection of my own. I prepared for my daughter. Once pregnant with my second child, I waited anxiously for the ultrasound. I knew a girl flourished in my womb. In the meantime, obnoxiously feminine names paraded through my mind, and I felt the urge to purchase all things pink.

The “big day” arrived four months into the pregnancy. What seemed like hours passed before the technician offered to reveal the baby’s gender. Sweat poured from my palms. My heart raced. She smiled at my 2-year-old. “You’re going to have a brother.” My son laughed. My husband grinned from ear to ear, and I fought back tears.

The reality devastated me, but I couldn’t be honest with anyone. I worried that my family and friends would find my thoughts disturbing. The shame of my feelings kept me silent. In secret, I entertained the pregnancy’s end to free my womb for a little girl. How could I abandon my dreams of a daughter and accept this child as my son?

Despite the devastation, joy somehow filtered into my pregnancy. I recognized the baby moving inside me. Daydreams of my oldest son and his little brother provided me with endless satisfaction. By the time my baby boy arrived, I felt pure exhilaration. This amazing creature stole my heart. And when I witnessed my first-born cradling his infant brother, I beheld perfection.

From the moment we left the hospital, observers complimented our beautiful family. Many assumed that the baby was a girl. A few asked. When I admitted he was indeed a boy, knowing looks crossed their faces. “Maybe you’ll get a girl next time,” they would say. I started to realize that I wasn’t the only one who thought the perfect family equaled a mom, a dad, a son and a daughter.

When my youngest son was a few months old, I chatted with my friend Jackie, the mother of two boys. I asked if she thought her life and her family were less than whole because she never had a daughter.

“Are you nuts?” she said. “I don’t have time for 'what ifs.' I’m too busy with the boys.”

Her words struck a chord. If I worried about what I didn’t have, I’d never enjoy what was right in front of me.

These days, girls seldom run through my thoughts. Instead of waiting for a daughter to build a special connection with, I build that connection with my sons. Joy fills my heart when I hear my oldest profess, “You hafta practice, Dad. Pitch it like Mom.” So, the game didn’t go the way I’d planned. Still, life is too short to shuffle away from the plate just to sit in the bull pen. I can see it in my sons’ eyes. As long as I stay in the game, we all walk away winners.