Girls Rule Boys Drool

I am a firm believer in that “Girls Rule Boys Drool” saying.

There is just something to be said about little girls, which I am sure must have been said many times before. They both melt, and break my heart; little boys are cute too, don’t get me wrong. but they can be rough, and puzzling to me. Being a girl I don’t know how to relate to one, I don’t like to play video games, or care much for trains, trucks or cars. I can’t stand to watch sports of any kind, unless we are talking about a live viewing at which point I am mostly content sipping my expensive beer, and feeding off the energy from the crowd.

Seeing a childs’ eyes light up at my funny faces, or wear a huge question mark, or the inexplicable mad stare that just cracks me up always leaves me wanting more. But to me, there is something magical about little girls. They will forever be my weakness; seeing them running with their tiny purses, hair at their backs waving wildly in the air, dropping whatever embellishments their parents carefully placed in it for probably the umpteenth time that day is a simple joy.

I do have to admit that I may be biased. I am surrounded by little girls as an aunt, and I love them to pieces! Which doesn’t even feel like a just enough way to explain the place these two ladies have inside my heart. I am determined to be their favorite, crazy, “always have candy on hand” aunt. To make them laugh, and question life in ways no one else does. I am specially proud to have bestowed a deep love for Nutella in my youngest niece. I now have the power to stop a tantrum, get her in her snow suit in under 30 minutes, get her to sit down so I can brush her hair without running away, all with the promise of a spoonful of Nutella. That’s right, we eat it like a chocolate lollipop in my family.

The one little man I had access to was my Godson. Living down the street from his parents was of great convenience, but even then he was more receptive to playing with my hubby. He probably sensed that I didn’t know what to do with him.  This is when my love in the form of treats came in to play best, specially living so close. This little dude was showered with love in the form of ooey gooeey chocolate chip cookies, and the many cupcake batches. He knew, like the color red representing love, that coming from me, chocolate was my heart for his taking.

Okay, confession overdue as my biological clock has been buzzing for many years now, the only problem is that my body does not seem to want to answer the call. It’s not the right time, or at least it’s what I keep telling myself. Deep down inside I know this for a fact and I am no where near being able to provide for a child. I have witnessed families struggling to feed their children. I din’t grow up rich, nor poor, but we knew what it meant to struggle. As an immigrant to Canada with practically nothing to our names, my family was well acquainted with food banks. I know what having a child will cost financially, physically, and emotionally. But if I am honest, I would move, pick up, and carry any mountain for the remainder of my life if I had to trade that for having my own little one. Sleepless nights be damned – which is a lot coming from this hibernating bear re-incarnation. I love my sleep.

My flaw? Infertility. Apparently, I am broken. Not a real woman. Or as I like to think of it  - forever a child at heart.

Why is it such a heavily kept, and guarded subject? Just starring at that word feels like there’s itchy feeling creeping in…I didn’t understand why, at first. Personally, it drives me crazy having to keep it bottled up inside every time we get asked why my husband and I don’t have our own child. I guess it’s social courtesy. You don’t want to drop a bomb like your infertility to a stranger – or even better, expecting parents when they innocently ask you when your “turn” will be coming. Or worse yet, beaming parents holding their new bouncing baby in their arms. But how I wish I could. I even wish I could wear a sign that would mean I would never again have to answer the question of when my mini-me will come. I’ve answered enough. I don’t even recall answering half of the time, not anymore.

Once my brain even registers the question, it’s like a part of me shuts off and auto-pilot takes over with the answer. Leaving me to recall little or none of that part of the conversation. Gotta love self-defence mechanisms!

Because it does takes a toll. Specially after 5 years of marriage. This may be the “when, why, and how” my addition to chocolate was solidified. It is the closest I get to filling the void inside, as temporary a remedy as it may be. The beauty with chocolate is that it is never ending, constantly involving into something delicious and mind numbing. A simple pleasure with the power to transport you somewhere happy, even if only for a moment. A moment I take gladly to gather my wits, and patch the cracks in my defenses.  A moment needed to get me going onto the next battle; the next question. Because I know the best is yet to come. Broken and all, I will not give up.

I like to look at my whole experience as a humbling of spirits.

In the mean time, I get to travel. Weekends are solely for my enjoyment. I get to sleep like a bear until my little hearts content. To focus on self improvement, be it with hot yoga, baking up storms of treats, reading a good book. To stare at my – not board, but my WALL of inspiration. My secret catalyst of force each morning.

Plus, getting to have chocolate milkshakes for breakfast (the one’s a Denny’s render me catatonic) & without the guilt of having to provide proper nutrition to a growing child, my sweet BONUS!