When I had only boys, I wanted only boys.
Daughters were a mysterious realm of hair do's and dresses and primping and poofing I didn't want to enter.
But the Universe intervened and dropped a baby girl in my lap.
And the return line was too damn long, so I kept her.
Since then, I have been struggling to survive the needs of my daughter--or my imagined needs of my daughter--and I have noticed that girls really are different than boys.
Yes, I know the anatomy is different. Sixteen months later and I am just now able to change a diaper of hers without startling because there is no wing nut.
I'm talking about more subtle differences.
My boys are loud and rough and love bodily functions.
Punk is quieter, more watchful, and also loves bodily functions.
The boys didn't snow The Man over quite as effectively at such a young age.
Punk wants? Watch how fast The Man fetches!
Punk breastfed longer, is smaller in general, and has a much higher pitched voice than my boys did, making her Amzonian war cries much more effective as they shatter glass.
Punk also rules with a chubby iron fist, making the males in her life run for cover or run to serve, I don't know which yet.
My boys ate what they were given, when it was provided. Punk is very particular, especially about her breakfast. She expects a breakfast bar every morning. We handed her a doughnut, she looked at us like we'd lost our minds, threw it to the floor for teh rat dog, and waited for the forthcoming breakfast bar, her hands folded and her eyes glaring.
My daughter knows she is a cute little shit, and, when in public expects to be dressed nicely (watch her preen) and admired. And, somehow, she gets it.
I never realized before I had my only daughter, that boys and girls could be so vastly different.
Or maybe my perception is what is different.
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