Growing up surrounded by brothers, fabulous as they were and are, there was a part of me that longed for a sister.
When the realisation finally dawned that after having 5 brothers arrive, that was not in fact going to happen, the dream subsided.
With our eldest child we knew early on we were having a boy. I was thrilled. I knew boys. I spoke boy. Boys were familiar territory to me. From nappies to tantrums, it didn't phase me a bit.
When we discovered I was pregnant again, I didn't want to know the sex of our baby at all. The longing for a girl had returned tenfold. I knew of course the minute they arrived, their gender would be immaterial, I'd love them to pieces. But there was a part of me that was wishing, wishing, wishing for a girl.
When she arrived I remember hearing her cry and asking eagerly: "What is it? What is it?" and the rather harried reply of my obstetrician: "We're still getting her out Sarah, hold on!"
I was always a bit impatient.
As it was the obstetrician didn't need to tell me. The minute they passed her to me it was all pretty clear.
To my husband I cried: "We made a girl!"
I said the same thing to the nurses in recovery, and repeated it again to my parents as they took us back to the ward.
We had made a girl.
A girl who six years later is my moonbeam.
A little girl who walks on her tippy toes everywhere we go.
A little girl who loves everything to be pink, purple and sparkly.
A little girl who loves to read and write and draw.
A little girl who sobs brokenheartedly if she doesn't get her way.
And we made her.
I couldn't love her more.
Happy birthday my darling.

I took one look at her pale face this afternoon when I picked her up from school and cancelled swimming lessons. Yes they've been paid for, and yes she has terrific teachers, but I know my daughter better than she knows herself. So my offspring and I spent the afternoon sprawled on the couch watching Disney movies. We ate dinner there. I ran them a bath and we sang songs in it. And then I read them "Goosey Lucy" and tried to keep my voice steady at the sad bits failing miserably. Afterwards we said a little prayer together and I tucked her into bed clutching her worn out stuffed elephant "Lumpy." And I checked on her just now and she's fast asleep.
We never do that. We rarely watch tv during the week simply because we're too busy. We always eat dinner at the table and usually we have some homework time.
But not tonight. Boundaries are great, so are routines. But if parenthood has taught me anything, there are no absolutes.
I know that as her parent I did the right thing. I spend much of my time trying to do that. Not always succeeding.
My sweet daughter is very bright. Where I struggled enormously with my son in developing his literacy and numeracy skills, my daughter sails through it all. But where my son is calmer in personality, she is highly strung.
And I knew when I picked her up today that if I'd carried out our planned agenda we would have had a meltdown of catastrophic proportions.
Growing up with so many younger brothers, my joy was unbounded when I delivered my little girl. In fact, as I was wheeled out of theatre back to my room, I remember chanting over and over to my husband: "We made a girl!, We made a girl!"
I have shamelessly indulged her love of all things pink and purple, her love of dressing up because I knew it would be temporary. That one day, she would put away those things.
Yesterday I caught her examining one of her fairy skirts and some gauzey wings. She hesitated, then put them away in her drawer. She wore them all the time to kindergarten last year, but I haven't seen them make an appearance this year. So this morning I told her she could dress up as a fairy at home if she wanted too.
And this afternoon she did.
I want her home to be a place she feels safe.
A place where she can be herself.
So this afternoon I got to snuggle up with Tinkerbell while her older brother dressed up in his lion costume. Because he could.
Because I know them better than they know themselves, and with me, they can just be, them.