I never pictured myself as the mother of a boy.

I come from a house of girls.  Had lots of girlfriends growing up.  Did Girl Scouts.  Participated in all-girl sports.  Babysat for families with little girls.

My first experience with boy children came during my stint as a summer camp counselor.  Assigned to the five-year-olds, I ran through my roster, and of the 12 kids, realizing more than half were boys.

Five-year-olds are, well, busy by nature.  Hardly a one could “sit still and listen.”  And really, the girls were just as active as the boys.  But there was this subtle difference in temperament between the five-year-old boys and the five-year-old girls.

The little girls asked me if I was married, if I had kids.  The five-year-old boys screamed “MISS SARAH WATCH ME” as they launched themselves off the edge of the playground equipment and onto the other five-year-old boys watching below.

After college I worked at a teen center for middle school boys and girls.  Really, tweens are tweens.  But again, I noticed these funny differences between the tween girls and the tween boys.  The tween girls quizzing me about my love life and the tween boys sneaking into the boys bathroom to flush billiard balls down the toilet.  Note: when tween boys say something to the effect of “we’re going on a mission” and file into the boys bathroom, send in a chaperone.

I loved working with both groups, both the boys and the girls.  In my opinion, they were both equally challenging, just in their own ways.

But since having a boy in my close family unit wasn’t part of what I knew, I had trouble envisioning myself as a mom of a boy.  Sure, I’d had some experience with boys during my camp and teen center days and with my friend’s kids.  But raising my own boy?  What did I know about that?

When I texted my girlfriend (who has two boys) after the 20 week sonogram with the message “BOY!” I followed up with asking for words of wisdom.

She said watch out when you change his diaper so he doesn’t pee all over you.

Hmm…

There has to be more, right?  More I need to know other than head’s up during the diaper change?  Like some secret boy-raising knowledge?

But, really, what did I know about raising a little girl, either?  I have a mom and a sister and lots of girlfriends, and clearly, I’m a lady, but that doesn’t mean I know everything about everything about being a woman.  Every one of Kate’s little girlfriends are different with their own quirks and personalities and temperaments.

Clearly, girls and boys aren’t the same.  But as I navigate the parenting waters with Kate, I’m more and more convinced that parenting each child isn’t so much about their sex but more about who they are.  And that’s why parenting is so hard.  There’s no secret sauce to raising anyone.

But I will take that advice about projectile boy pee.

Good friends of ours got married over the weekend.  Back in the fall they asked Dan to be the Best Man and Kate to be the flower girl.

I knew Dan would make a great Best Man.  But I wasn’t sure how our two-year-old would do as flower girl.

I found that dress for her at Target back around Easter and tried to hide it from her since playing dress up is her favorite activity and she wants to change her clothes 18 times a day.  We talked about how her “wedding dress” was special, and she couldn’t wear it until the wedding day.

As the big day approached, Dan and I talked up wearing her wedding dress and walking down the aisle.  She seemed interested.  But when working with a two-year-old, anything can happen.

On the day of the wedding, I was sweating bullets.  When we arrived at the venue, she let my mom and I put flowers in her hair and seemed excited to walk down the aisle.  Then we tried to get her to take pictures with the bride.  And she wasn’t having it.

This is where I panicked on the inside but tried to look calm on the outside.

Fortunately the photographer got the shots she could and didn’t pressure Kate to do any more than she was willing.

And then it was time to line up.

The couple had a large bridal party, and Kate was going last, right after Dan and in front of the bride.  So while the groomsman and bridesmaids processed down the aisle I worked hard to sell the whole “walk down the aisle” idea.  I pulled out all the stops.  A princess crown, a magic wand, flowers, etc…

I sold her on holding a small bouquet and as soon as she saw Dan, she happily bounced down the aisle all by herself while I held my breathe and tried to look as inconspicuous (as inconspicuous as one can look at 8 months pregnant) as I sidled down the edge of the aisle behind her.

And all that worry was for nothing because she walked right down the aisle behind Dan and didn’t even seem to notice the photographers and 200+ people oohing and awing over her.

This kid held up like a champ, keeping still through the ceremony (She did keep asking me “What her Daddy doing?” and “Did I see all those princesses?”), sitting nicely in her own chair through dinner, and hitting up the dance floor until she collapsed around 10 p.m.

Now Kate is crazy about weddings.  Yesterday in the car she told me: “Mama, I’m getting married.  But I need a boyfriend first!”

Oh, my.