When I was pregnant we had decided not to find out whether we were having a boy or a girl. The nursery was decked out in primary colors with an alphabet and an animal theme. All the baby clothes, blankets, and bedding were neutral colors.
When I was in labor my doctor made a bet with the delivery nurse that I was having a girl based on how I was carrying. I said I didn't care and that as long as the baby was healthy we would be the luckiest parents in the world.
Secretly though throughout my pregnancy we had hoped for a boy. Without a boy, my husband's family name would die. He is the last male of his generation to carry on the family name. Talk about pressure. We had agreed on a boy's name (Hayden, a family name) fairly early in my pregnancy but had argued for months about a girl's name. We finally agreed on Emily about two weeks before I was due because it was the only name we could agree on.
When our baby entered the world and the doctor announced that she had lost the bet, I remember feeling deflated and oddly disappointed that there would be no little girl to dress in cute little dresses with bows in her hair. And then I looked at the baby that the doctor had laid on my stomach and thought what the h***, as I felt a moment of panic. "He" was missing something pretty important. As my exhausted mind realized that we were the parents of a beautiful, perfect little girl, the doctor said, "oh, wait, I said you were having a girl so I won the bet."
Our little angel wore green, yellow, and white for the first whole month of her life. The only person who had been convinced we were having a girl was my mother-in-law. She came to the hospital while I was in labor with little cowgirl boots. At the baby shower, when people were told to take either blue or pink plates based on what they thought we were going to have, she was one of the few to choose a pink plate on which to sit her cake. These boots were the cutest things I had ever seen and I think it was those boots that started me yearning for a little girl in those last few hours before our baby made an appearance.
The boots were a size 5 which is usually the size a 6-9 month old wears. My two-year old is now wearing them on her tiny feet. They are sitting by the back door. Brown with pink stitching, they sit next to our winter boots and sneakers and her mary janes. They are our daughter's favorite shoes and we love to tell her the story of how she got them. She wears them with everything: jeans, her snow white costume, and even tutus. There are days where she will be running around the kitchen in only her cowgirl boots and her diaper laughing hysterically at something she has done. I don't think I will ever have the heart to throw those boots away, no matter how worn and ragged they get.