My firstborn was a boy. And I knew it. From the way he fed, and the way he cried. He would pull at my breasts, yank and tug, because he was a boy and he was Hungry. When my daughter came along, she was the most graceful little thing. Her hands and fingers were so dainty, and when it was time to feed she was so polite. Very soft and graceful. At night she would just softly murmur if she wanted to feed. Instead of yelling the house down and waking up the whole neighborhood. I would lift her from the cot beside my bed and we would lie together. Her hands still have a beautiful gracefulness about them. Sometimes I plead with her, please brush my hair and if she is feeling generous she will softly brush my hair and braid or tie it up. It is a magical feeling for me – the touch of her gentle delicate hands.