For the past sixteen years our home has had a decidedly feminine aura about it. Pink princess wallpaper, canopy beds, fairy tea parties, American Girl dolls, Easy Bake ovens, blessing and baptism dresses, ballet slippers, dance recitals and the like have filled our life with all things girly. They have been sweet and wonderful years . . . except for those occasions when the unpleasant female traits (whining, crying, pouting) took over. How I love and adore my girls! How blessed I’ve been to be the mother of three lovely daughters. And how much fun we have together— baking, shopping, scrapbooking, painting toenails. I have a true girly girl, a more tomboyish girl, and one in between. I have one in grade school, one in middle school, and one in high school. And each is delightful in her own way. I love being their mother, and I love that they have each other as sisters.

I also love my son. At his arrival as our firstborn, eighteen years ago today, I originally wasn’t quite sure I was up to the task of raising a boy. After all, I’d only had sisters myself. I felt clueless about all things boy; that I had one was a little scary. But not for long. In the space of about a heartbeat, I fell madly in love with the little guy. He proceeded to fill our lives with wonder, his curiosity bringing a lot of laughter and joy to our home. He’s always kept us on our toes, with never a dull moment inbetween. I love being his mother, and I’ve always felt bad that he didn’t have a brother. In our home, with its overwhelming female population (even the dog is a girl), he’s survived and even thrived, but for quite some time we’ve both felt something—or someone—was missing.

Periodically, over the past several years, he would say things to me like, “you know, Mom, you could have another baby.”

To which I’d often reply, “You’re funny, son.”

When this continued as he grew older I started to think, Huh?! What kind of teenage boy tells his mother this? Aren’t teens supposed to be selfish and self-centered and all that? And he definitely had his moments (okay, days, weeks—years) in that stage, but the idea of one more child—specifically a little boy—continued to nag at the back of my mind. After a while, the nagging turned to dreaming about this little boy, and before I’d realized what was happening, I could not stop thinking of him. Someone really was missing.

Yikes!

By the time my husband and I figured this out, we were into our late thirties. Time was ticking, and our family was growing older. And just because we felt there was one more child meant for us did not mean he was going to arrive easily—or anytime soon.

Over three years and a few complications later, he’s finally made it. Andrew Fielding Holmes arrived January 2, weighing in at 7 lbs 14 oz. Six weeks later he’s about 10 pounds, and the rest of the family is about a month behind on their sleep. But it’s worth the sleep loss, the chaos, the craziness of having five children ages one month to eighteen. It’s worth every bit of stress and sleep deprivation when I see my boys together. Though there are many years separating them, they already have a special bond—one I’m certain was formed long before either arrived in this world.

So happy birthday, Spencer—your first with your brother. Though you’re on the brink of adulthood, ready and eager to take off into the world, we hope (and imagine) you’ll stick around a little longer. If for no other reason than to give Andrew some balance in our house of girls.