Jun
17

I knew my husband was in for a tough time the minute the ultrasound technician announced that we were having a second girl. I watched his face go ashen as his future being the sole male presence in our household flashed before his eyes. The pink, the frills, THE HORMONES!

Hubby and I had agreed long ago that as two people who enjoy eating at nice restaurants, spending quiet afternoons sipping wine, shopping or people watching and who go cold at the thought of an hour spent in a park full of screaming kids, two would be our absolute limit. So his fate was sealed, the women would rule the roost.

Of course he has attempted to adjust the balance, by introducing them to baseball, football and soccer, even bribing them with the free giveaways he gets at games. But while my eldest is in no way a girly girl, she’s no tomboy either. And my youngest, (through my systematic scheming gentle persuasion) is girly through and through.

For the most part, considering he is a full-blooded sport loving, testosterone packed male, he does pretty well. He picks up cute clothes for them on trips, he watches their living room theatre productions, he’s even been know to sip water from tiny little pink cups as an active if unwilling tea party guest. But he has his limits and the end of year dance recital for Mo, pushed him above and beyond those limits.

This is no cutesy little show where 20 or so kids do a little jig in a small hall and 20 minutes later we all go home. This is a major production that could rival a Broadway show. Costumes are purchased, an auditorium is hired, a 2-hour dress rehearsal is attended and the big day is nothing short of an extravaganza. Not only did my dear hubby sit through our daughter’s stellar performance, applauding with impressive enthusiasm, he had by this point already sat through 8 other dances, mostly performed by 2-5 year old girls. The commentary went a little something like this. “It must be Mo soon. When is Mo’s turn? How much more is there? My God this is painful!”

And after all of this, he even took Flo and Mo for cupcakes, in the 90 degree heat. It was obvious poor hubby had really put in an A+ effort, but no more so that when in response to an event that was just too girly and cute for his man brain to handle, my poor long suffering hubby laid down on the couch and slipped into a self-protecting coma for an hour.

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