I wrote this earlier this year.


I saw it before the doctor did – or at least I saw it before he said anything. I’m no medical expert, but I could tell that the baby on the ultrasound monitor would not be wearing the pink dresses my daughter had. I was having a boy and it terrified me.

I loved having a daughter. I understood her. Her favorite colors are pink and yellow and purple. Boys like blue and green and camouflage. My daughter loves playing in her kitchen and watching Dora the Explorer. Boys play with robots and watch Bob the Builder. Abby loves having her hair done and wearing dresses. Boys wear baseball caps and tear their jeans. And speaking of clothes, we all know that little girls’ clothes are a hundred times cuter than little boys’ clothes.

Somewhere in my mind, I think I knew all along. They were already different in so many ways. When I was pregnant with Abigail, I was all about mint chocolate chip ice cream. This time around, I couldn’t keep my hands away from pretzels and popcorn my husband loves to snack on. And somewhere in my mind, I think I’d wished for it. Throughout my pregnancy, I found myself falling more and more in love with my daughter. I couldn’t imagine loving another little girl like I loved her. So there I was, faced with reality: I would soon have a son.

I knew the only way to prepare myself was to shop. Surely I would find something adorable that would make me excited about toy trucks and dinosaurs. We left the doctor’s office and hit some stores. I had looked at several racks before something grabbed me. It was a four piece suit: denim shirt, red plaid tie, khaki pants and brown suede vest. Moments later I found a one-piece outfit with tools on it. Dragons and puppy dogs might possibly begin to grow on me.

My next issue was the bedroom. My husband was a student and we were living in a two bedroom apartment. The kids would, for at least the first six months, be sharing a room. I had to pack away the pink quilted crib set Abigail had used as an infant (that went beautifully with the bedding she has now.) How would I get pink flowers and the blue jean teddy bear to mesh? After admitting that he would not be permanently damaged by having a pink plastic kitchen in his room while an infant, I came up with a plan: her half of the room would be pink and yellow, his would be green and blue.

Perhaps the biggest issue I had to tackle upon accepting the ultrasound results was the name he would have. I knew it when I married my husband, but had been living in denial. He would be James Cooper Sanders, III. My husband is Jimmy; his father is Jim. I wanted him to have his own name. I didn’t want him to be “Little Jimmy.” As much as I love and admire my husband, I wanted this child of mine to be his own man. But I also wanted to respect something that Jimmy had always wanted for his son. So I began writing and saying the name Cooper to get myself ready for this new man in my life.

And then it came. I labored for about ten hours before the decision was made to do a C-section. When they pulled him out, screaming and peeing, Jimmy’s first words were, “He looks just like Abby did.” And in the recovery room when I held him for the first time, I knew I was in for something amazing.

I love my daughter. I love the bond we share now, and I will love watching her grow into a woman. But having a son is different. More than just learning to aim down during diaper changes, I will always be his point of reference of what a Godly wife, mother and woman looks like. When he looks for a woman to share his life with, he will either look for someone like me or unlike me, depending on the kind of woman I am. Sometimes that thought scares me to death.

But for now, he is my little man. Their room looks great, although it’s a little cramped. More and more I’m finding green and blue clothes that make me smile. His name suits him and I know that one day he will know the honor of being named after his dad. But most of all, there is a smile he smiles only for me, and when he does, there isn’t a part of me that wishes for another child to put in dresses. Every bit of my heart thanks God for blessing me with a son, camouflage and all.