I am a female who was raised with one sister. Boys were a terrifying, alien, fascinating concept to me for most of my childhood and adolescence, yet here I am, raising one.
What in the world am I doing?!
My two girls are just my speed, most of the time. They love tea parties. We do dress-up. They are all about nail painting and kitties and My Little Pony and flower window clings.
I don’t understand boys. I can’t comprehend the need to get dirty, to make things crash, to create so much noise it almost creates a seismic event. To make a poop joke out of anything. To wear shorts no matter the weather.
It is my sincerest pleasure to be the proud, loving mommy to three beautiful children: my almost-7-year-old Samantha, my 2.5-year-old dragon Emmaline, and, in between, my 5-year-old Tanner. My Boy Child. My makes-my-heart-stop little love.
#BoyMom
I wasn’t prepared in any way, shape, or form for how much I would love this little boy. He stole my heart the moment he entered the world {at roughly the speed of light on Square Lake Road}, and I’ve been wrapped around his finger ever since. Why is having a boy somehow different from having a girl?
But in so many ways it is so different. Like it or not, there are so many pressures on small males in our society. Don’t cry. Be manly. Don’t wear pink. Be tough.
I have every intention of raising a God-fearing, affectionate, confident, gentlemanly boy. But how in the world is such a thing accomplished??
The Tough Questions
Here are some quandaries for you:
How do I let this little man get as filthy as I know boys are supposed to, without having a mental breakdown?
Can I foster a love of all things squirmy and slimy when I gag at the very thought?
Is it possible to make him tough when I want to smother him with hugs and kisses every time he gets a boo-boo?
How in the world can I raise a boy, sandwiched between two girls, and make sure that no one makes A Thing of it every time his rather bossy big sister makes him put on Belle’s yellow ballgown? Or whenever he gets jealous of his sisters getting their nails painted and so he gets blue nail polish? And how about all those times he played with his big sister’s dollhouse but he was really using it as a parking garage for his five bazillion Matchbox cars?
Is it possible, any time in the foreseeable future, that he might pee into the toilet?
Can I possibly avoid scarring him for life when I publish posts like this? {The internet is forever!}
Are you a #BoyMom? Share your tips and tricks with me!
