I knew we were having a boy. I just had this little gut feeling that the teeny, tiny speck of love that was growing inside of me was a boy. Most people would call me a girly girl. I like pretty things. I like makeup and dressing up and sparkly stuff. So when we announced we were having a boy I got a few of those “Awwww, are you a little disappointed ” remarks from friends. I get it, I imagine most people would assume you pine for a mini version of yourself to feel fulfilled as a parent. But honestly, I didn’t feel even a hint of disappointment. I loved being a “boymom” from the very beginning. It was like this instant comfort and confidence came over me. Somehow I just felt like I knew what my life was all about, like this new role I was about to embark on was the purpose I had been searching for. Instantly I envisioned myself as a sideline mommy, cheering on my little man at all his sports games. We would camp out in the backyard, hunt for bugs and make mudpies. I couldn’t wait!
My sweet little boy will turn two soon. With two years of boymom experience under my belt I can say it has it’s challenges. There are days I’m overwhelmed, exhausted and have no idea where I’m gonna find the energy to make it to bedtime. But I still love it so much and wouldn’t change a thing.
What Being a BoyMom means–
- I’m always dirty. There’s always a stain on my shirt, on my pants, on my face. I’ve given up on even trying to wear white. Or a skirt, or a dress. I learned this the hard way after one too many times trying to recover a ball thrown under the car, or having my backside exposed by an impromptu piggy back ride. My mom friends show up for lunch with their little girls wearing matching pretty sundresses, and I’m in a t-shirt and jeans wiping shoe mud off my hip while they point out what might be banana in my hair. Or something else… Who knows!
- We don’t color. I mean, we do, we color. We color for like 36 seconds. Then we try to insert the crayons into our toy trucks, break the crayons in half and hulk smash them on the floor. We hide the crayons in our pants and stick them in crevices where they will never be retrieved, like the car vents. There’s no quietly sitting and doing arts and crafts in little boy world.
- My purse is a vending machine. I always have snacks. You want a banana, a pack of applesauce, some string cheese? I got it. I can whip you up a peanut butter sandwich on the fly. Little boys are always hungry. The amount of food my guy puts away is shocking.
- And by purse I mean backpack. I have a whole shelf of beautiful, neglected handbags hanging in my closet. Boys require two free hands at all times. You quickly become adept at catching a tripping toddler with one arm while holding a handful of toy cars in the other. Or filling out a doctors form while he’s bouncing on your hip and mimicking flying airplanes. Shoulder bags just don’t work.
- I have super human energy. Okay, maybe not, but everyone thinks I do because boys are go go go! My son wakes up like a firecracker and immediately wants to be outside. Boys have this incredible need to be outdoors, all day, no matter the weather. If it’s sunny we are at the pool. If its cold we are playing in the snow. If it’s raining we’re splashing in puddles. The wilderness urge in males seems to take over as soon as they start walking, possibly even earlier. I think my son was crawling to the door when he was 8 months old. He would press his face against the screen and beg to be set free.
- You’ll get peed on. But it’s not like you imagine. This was one of those things every person will ask you about or warn you of when you have a baby boy. But it’s not some everyday occurrence. Both times were hysterically funny and worth the laugh for a little extra clean up. Don’t buy the pee pee tee pees, they are completely unnecessary.
- Less worry. There’s this innate confidence that everything is gonna be okay that sets in even when they’re newborns. With little girls I’ve noticed there seems to be more mom anxiety over every step, a more cautious nature on the playground. Maybe it’s that we grow up with this idea that girls are delicate flowers and boys are all rough and tumble. I watch other people panic when my child climbs things or takes off full speed, but I know he’s gonna be okay. I want him to be fearless and explore, to test boundaries and figure out his path. Of course I want to keep him safe and I watch him closely, but I let him take those leaps and I celebrate silently with him every time.
- Band Aids. Cause for every 100th time he jumps there’s gonna be a cut, or scrape or bump or bruise. I remember the first boo-boo. It was the tiniest little bump from knocking his noggin’ on something and my heart just dropped, I felt so terrible. Then he started almost walking and it was like our whole house was a war zone full of mine fields. Even with all the baby proofing and stripping it down to the basics he’d still crash into something. When he started fully walking we made it a full two weeks and he face planted on the sidewalk and scraped his nose up. He looked like Rudolph for a month. But with every boo boo comes the need for comforting and a cure all kiss from momma. When he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my chest my heart swells with so much love and contentment and so many emotions. A wave of pride and joy, a surge of strength and a sense of purpose fill my soul and I know what I’m meant to be.
I’m a boymom!
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