Tuesday, September 11, 2012

I Love Little Girls

Seriously, I do.  For some reason when ever someone finds out I have three daughters, most of them either ask if we're going to try for a boy (like "keep working at it, one of these times you'll get it right") or say something along the lines of "I'm sorry", shooting me the same look you give to the sweet looking pitbull in the euthinization cage at the SPCLA.  While not ruling out another kid down the line, and in no way saying that we wouldn't love to add a little boy to the mix to change things up - because we would - let me make this clear: I love having little girls.  And nothing reminds me how much I love my daughters more then seeing little boys their same age; it's exhausting just watching them.  On Sunday I took all three girls to the zoo.  Gina was working a festival down by San Diego so I set out with juice boxes, pb&j's, and a 6 pack of patience.  But all I really needed was the food.  The girls were so easy; they walk nicely and hold hands and listen and act like little people. ... not whirling dervishes of chaos.  I know you can't lump all boys into the same dog pile, so I won't.  I know plenty of good little boys, and I was a little boy once (not a good one, though) so you'd assume my bias is tainted in their favor to begin with.  But the ones at the zoo were all crazy.  Screaming and hitting and running and climbing and hitting and climbing and running and screaming.  One poor dad, chasing after his lone child, passed me by in slow motion.  He did the whole "once over" of our little family and you could see a pleading confusion in his eyes as we locked gazes for a moment.  "What the hell?!" he seemed to ask.  "I'm desperately pursuing 1 and you're calmly walking with a stroller and 2 holding on and as instructed."  We then sat and ate our lunch while another little boy nearby impersonated a wine sommelier, chewing each bite before intentionally spitting it out on the floor next to him.  His poor mother looked exhausted and out of ideas.  Then the girls went and played on the playground while this grandmother chased a little boy (she was underneath the structure, he was on top) as he tried to find any possible means to jump off and kill himself.  Backwards down the slide, over the security railings, on top of the little slide "house".  Her screams of "Christopher" wore down her voice to a horse whisper by the time she finally pryed him down and carried him away screaming.  I do want to note on that one that the grandfather just sat on the bench the whole time eating a bag of chips and watching his poor wife struggle with their progeny.  And these are just three examples of many.  Yes, part of it is my girls are very well behaved - we got lucky with that.  But I did not see one little girl there giving her parents a rough time. ... not one.  And not all the boys were difficult; there were several who seemed very well mannered.  But the problems were overwhelmingly little boys.  So here's the deal: the next time someone says "Three girls, huh?  That's gotta be rough."  (which happened at my sister-in-law's soccer game on Saturday. ... word for word) I'm going to say, "It could have been worse. ... I could have had sons!"

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