These last few days on social media there has been a wave of parents sharing photos of their children for #nationalsonsday and #nationaldaughtersday. I know these days are particularly challenging for those fighting through infertility–a reminder of what everyone else has and another new “holiday” to dread.

Being six years removed from our infertility journey, it feels my sympathies may feel hallow, but my prayers are still with those in the waiting.

But these days can also sting for other reasons.

I’m over a third of the way through my third pregnancy with our second set of twins and, unlike my other pregnancies, I haven’t shared a lot about it. Some of this has been intentional, some has not–in truth, this has been the hardest pregnancy both physically and mentally for me. I’ve had little energy to do much more than pull myself from bed, get my work done and return back to that same bed.

Now that I’m getting regular IV infusions and am a bit further along, I have some days where I can experience other human things like thinking somewhat clearly, processing emotions, and–attempting–to talk about them.

We are having identical twin boys again. A true rarity. A true blessing.

And yet, I ache. Not because of what is, but what is not. I have an answer to the question I’ve posed to God many times since we first became pregnant, “Will I have a daughter?” And that answer is a definitive but gentle, “no.”

No, I will not have a little girl. I will not have my little copy. Not like that anyway.

Both Anthony and I have been confident that these babies will mark our family as being complete. And I am still at peace with that. I know I couldn’t manage another pregnancy after this one.

I wanted clarity, but I wanted a different answer.

I always pictured myself having a daughter or two maybe. I grew up with two brothers and a sister. So, I assumed I’d have something similar. It’s overly simplified and a bit silly, really, to think that’s how I came up with these dreams, but that’s the truth of it. It’s what I knew, so it’s what I expected.

It’s what other expect too. Anytime we take our boys on an errand we get the “are you going to try for a girl?” Or, of course, now that I’m showing, “are you finally getting your girl?”

I’ve answered so many times that it doesn’t really hurt the way it once did. I’ve learned after going through infertility that, while people can be a bit ignorant, they aren’t trying to be cruel.

This time around, there was a part of my heart that really believed one of these babies would be that girl I’d planned for. Or that we’d get that set of girl twins Anthony’d always dreamt of. I tried not to, but I had started envisioning a pink nursery and tiny tights. I even started discussing names. And so, when we found out that wasn’t the case, those dreams got sucked up in a vortex and left me winded.

I know when these boys arrive, I won’t even be thinking about girls vs boys. I’ll just be in love–the same as it’s been for each of my children. But right now, right here, I’m just mourning a pretty picture I’ve held since I was a little girl playing house.

When I was a kid, I had a favorite name, “Lily,” for my future little girl and only recently found out that Anthony had always loved that name too. So, I’ve been naming that dream Lily.

I always thought if I had a daughter she’d have my curly, untamable hair. When Anthony and I talked about having kids, I always said how I wished one would have his eyes and, if it was our daughter, she’d never be denied anything. Anthony pictured her as playful as I was, always in a world my brother and I invented together. I pictured her as gentle and fierce–stronger than me and yet softer than me. After we found out we were pregnant this time, we talked about what great protectors her big brothers would be. Even the boys all talked about having sisters. Noah talked about how we could get them princess costumes and makeup, because that’s what girls like :).

And then suddenly, years of visions tumbled to the ground as dust–even when they felt so sturdy for all these years and to be honest, I still don’t know what to do with their remains. I know I have to let them go, but I don’t know where to leave them. They’re just ashes on my mantle for now, waiting to be spread somewhere beautiful.

I’ve caught myself, more than once, wandering into the dangerous territory of accusation–of wondering if the reason for my lack of daughters is because God didn’t see me as worthy or capable. But that’s not how our God works, is it? He does not withhold His goodness from us. He is goodness and he shares that with His children. The only conclusion I can and should draw is that this is His good, even if this wasn’t my vision.

So, for the mothers without daughters, I see you. Mothering sons is an incredibly important, humbling, and amazing calling. One of the most important roles in our world today–I’d argue. And yet, the longing for girls’ days, braiding hair, painting nails, telling the story of how you met their father, going wedding dress shopping, and even walking your own daughter through motherhood, that too is real.

It’s okay to feel the loss of that. It’s okay to miss the things that won’t be. But if I know anything about my God, it’s that He always has better plans than I do. Sometimes, it just takes my heart some time to catch up with that truth.