When we had our first girl (firstborn), I was petrified. I never grew up with girls. I had no idea how to relate to girls. I just didn't know what to do or how to behave.
Then we had our second girl. I was okay, I knew how to play with girls. I loved my girls!
Then we had our third girl. I was perfectly fine. I was in the zone. I'd done this twice before. We were golden.
We went through the Christmas where I came in and woke up my wife after she had been napping for two hours to say, "Please come and rescue me. I've played dolls, helped them put on makeup and fingernail polish, played dress up and read myself horse (pun intended!) with My Pretty Pony! Nothing explodes! Nothing crashes! It's an endless and continuous emotionally uplifting party where nothing explodes!" My wife rescued me and I learned my limits.
We were convinced our fourth was a girl, right up until the birth. Then we say that extra bit of skin and I suddenly realized: I don't know how to raise a boy!
I learned. It's okay. He's different than the girls.
I can remember thinking, holding my son, remembering all the things I did as a boy and the poignant thought hit me: "Wow. Everything is different, now. It was so easy raising girls. This will be a challenge."
And it is. Every day. Girls are easy to raise, until they reach puberty (or so I've been told over and over and over and over and over again--my oldest is 11).
Boys are harder, but get easier (or so I've been told over and over and over and over and over...)
You can do it. With girls, you'll never, ever lose them, yet they'll break your heart bringing home deadbeats who aren't worthy to look them in the eye. One day, in fact, your adoring daughter will tell you that she wants to adore another man for the rest of her life. And you'll just have to learn to live with that.
It's okay, though. She'll always be yours and you'll always be her "daddy", even when she's 45. (My one sister called my dad "daddy" until the day he died.)