It just dawned on me the other day that I will soon be living in a house of men. How funny to be the only female in a family of four. At first, perhaps, it won't strike me much. Two of those men, after all, will still need to be tucked into diapers. But what will it be like in 13 years when I am cooking for three men? How will I keep the bathroom toilet clean? I still remember the smell of my brothers' bedroom growing up. No matter how hard Mom tried, she couldn't keep the dirty socks, pitted-out T-shirts, and sweaty football pads from making their presence known.
But truthfully, I am thrilled about having two sons. I can't wait to make them their favorite dinner when they've had a bad day, or write them little notes and tuck them under their pillows. I can't wait to run my fingers through their shaggy, teenage hair when they're sick on the couch. I've already been restrained by Daniel when I've reached for Bright after he's fallen down. It's so hard to let him hurt, but I can see that overmothering him would hurt him worse in the long run. I'm so thankful they will have a dad to keep me from unwrapping too many bandaids and telling-off too many ex-girlfriends. Daniel is an amazing dad. I will count myself blessed to share my home and my life with these three men.
