Almost three years ago, Nathan and I were in New York just the two of us. I was pregnant, and it was on that trip we had planned for Nathan and I to find out whether baby #1 was going to be a boy or a girl. I had imagined this moment in my mind so many times. I had seen so many pictures and videos of gender reveals: the excitement and joy! I kept wondering what was wrong with me, though. I had this sense of dread at finding out the gender of our baby. That somehow that would make it even more real. And even more so than that, if we got right down to the core of it, I was terrified that I was going to have a boy.

We opened the little envelope alone together in our hotel room. And a little blue ribbon fell out. Nathan said something like, “You’re going to be a boy mom!” And that’s when I looked away, and the tears started. Like the tears streamed down my face, and my mind went into a panic.

I’ve been so embarrassed by this reaction for years. It was not the happy, excited picture that is pasted all over social media of people excited about the gender of their baby. And I’ve been hesitant to share such a personal, low moment for me here in such a public way. I was sure, though, in that moment that I had no idea how to be a good boy mom. That somehow loving this little boy was going to be particularly difficult because I had no experience with what little boys liked and the things they struggled with as they grew up.

I’m just going to pause for a minute because to some of you this sounds like complete madness. But for me it was a very real fear that I was somehow not cut out to be a boy mom. I had always pictured myself raising strong, self-assured, confident young women, but as I sit here on the precipice of adding yet another boy to our little Lane clan, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on this fear I had held before little Harrison came into our life. And I’m going to bet that I may not be the only person in the world with the same fear.

The truth is, and I knew this in my heart of hearts even at the moment that little blue ribbon came out of the envelope, that being a good mom has nothing to do with the gender of little ones. And that just about everything in this world can be learned. If Harrison takes an interest in baseball, I’m confident that I have the wherewithal to learn baseball well enough to know the rules and to cheer him on. If he gets super into bugs, I’m going to guess that I can learn enough about bugs to hang with him on bug discussions, too. And even though they may not be the same shared experiences that I walked through growing up female, there is a love for our little ones that underlies everything we do for them, including support them through times where they struggle.

While the things that Harrison and baby Lane #2 may struggle with growing up could potentially be different because they are boys, the things that I want to instill in them are no different than those that I’d want to instill in a little girl. Self-worth. Empathy. Self-awareness.

Being a boy mom may come at times with a heavier dosing of physicality. Messiness. The innate urge to destroy things. But I often times think that God has gifted me with two little boys to teach me how to lean into the messiness. To re-center myself over and over again that most things can be cleaned up. Fixed. Or washed. That is not my innate nature, and cling to a world of cleanliness. Liking things in order and perfect. It makes me wonder whether gifting me with two little boys is God’s way of saying, “it’s ok, Lauren, for it to not be perfect.” The memories usually don’t come in the perfect, right? And what truly matters is raising good humans.