I believe I indicated in my last post that I had a very nice Christmas Eve evening with my family.

I did not mention our Christmas Eve morning, which was spent frantically running around doing last minute errands. First, the Bagel shop for…well, bagels. Then, Costco for the lobster tails. The kids were in tow. We were running errands as a family. They were reaching their limit. I suggested to my husband that one of us go back home and stay with the kids, who in my opinion needed to relax and play. My husband, with the fortitude of a boy scout troop leader, wanted to “stick to the plan.” So, we did. Yes, sir. Hannah threw a tantrum the minute we entered the mall. “Go. Just go get them [the shoes]” My husband ordered. “I’ll deal with her.”

I was off to Stride Right. Rachel’s grandpa had given us money for Christmas. Since we had already bought presents for the girls, I thought about what else they might want. What had I said “no” to? Rachel had been wanting fancy shoes for about a month. We had put a moratorium on fancy shoes because she had received many expensive shoes as gifts in the past that she had asked for and wouldn’t wear because they were uncomfortable. She only really felt comfortable in a particular pair of black leather shoes that Stride Rite makes. When she outgrew them my husband searched along time to find a pair in her new size. We had invested in those. No more fancy shoes. The ones she had were nice enough, and she wore them. She liked them. No need to complicate things.

For Halloween I bought a pair of cheap white slip-on shoes for her to wear with her bride costume. They were too big, but she loved them. I never returned them, thinking she would grow into them eventually. When I took her to the ballet with her two friends from school, she wanted to wear the white “fancy” shoes. I gave in and let her wear the whites, which were so big they kept slipping off her feet as she walked in them. It was pouring rain, and I let her ride on my back from the car to the auditorium, not wanting her feet to get wet and cold as her shoes slipped off. During the ballet I saw how proud she was of those damn white shoes. She kept showing them to her friends, who had much fancier black shoes on, and like normal smart four year olds, let her know it. I immediately stopped the shoe comparisons, but was bursting with pride at her for wearing those silly shoes so proudly without complaining.

So as Hannah wailed behind me in the mall that day I was running to go spend some of Grandpa’s Christmas money on fancy black shoes that would fit her, and that she could run in at school, comfortably. I found them, and then spent time finding a cute pair of running shoes for Hannah’s wide feet. (Poor Hannah has a hard time finding shoes tht fit her.) I wasn’t buying the fancy black shoes because I wanted Rachel to be like her friends, but because I was so proud of her for the way she joyfully wore those silly white shoes at the ballet.

So I got the comfortable shiny black shoes and a wide pair of sneakers for Hannah, and hurried back. Hannah was no longer crying. I sat on a bench with Rachel and Hannah while their Dad went for smoothies.

Then a man suddenly stopped to talked to us.

He LOOKED normal.

Out of the blue, he said, “You know if you go for a third, chances are you’ll have another girl.”

I stared at him.

“Are you thinking about having another?” He asked.

“I think I might.” Why the hell did I answer this idiot?

“Two things you can do to help.” he offered. “Diet and Timing. I think the male sperm swim faster or something…you gotta hit it right at ovulation.”

He starts gesturing his hand in imitation of sperm. Rachel stared at him blankly. Hannah sucked her thumb.

I was speechless.

“Ah well. You did good work with these two.” He moved on.

Yeah.

Had he even considered that I might just know a little something about this timing thing?

And that maybe I had wanted two girls.

I do good work. Yes indeedy.

I like to feel powerful once in a while. Indulge me.