Hi friends! I am so excited. Part of the new change around here will involve posts that showcase all areas of my life, not just food. Motherhood is a huge part of that and I’m so ready to share some of my thoughts, as well as the thoughts of other moms close in my life. Let’s get it started with my take on raising two boys.
I grew up in a pink house.
Not really, but it was definitely girl world. Barbies, my little ponies, dress up; check – check – check. Classic to a tee, my sisters and my mom over took that house in typical girl fashion. Even the cats were girls.
After two years of marriage we got the news I was pregnant. Naturally, in my head, it was a girl. What else would it be? I knew nothing of boy world – surely I couldn’t produce a boy.
I’ll never forget reading that small slip of paper written by the doctor outside the restaurant where we were about to enjoy a lovely dinner. BOY. Boy. It was like a foreign word to me. How could I be a mom to a boy? Not only did I not have a brother, but I was always that awkward girl around boys. I never knew how to act – what to say – what to do. Now, I was supposed to raise one?
As time went by the pink slowly faded into blue and my little (ok, big) L was born in October 2006. Big. That was a key word. Not only am I having boys, but I’m having big boys. Heavy, cuddly, healthy, happy, off the chart boys.
As L’s fat baby rolls disappeared into toddlerhood, I learned some very key things about these mysterious creatures. They don’t really sit, at all. L began walking late, around 18 months or so. He skipped the few steps here and there stage and began a full out sprint and I didn’t sit down for a year and a half. I have memories of other moms at the pool lounging with their little girls while I was racing onto the golf course in attempt to catch L.
The high energy is a given, for sure. Another thing I noticed was the innate desire to throw, hit, deconstruct. It was never about building a tower, it was about knocking it over and making the loudest and biggest mess possible. Everything is a ball, always and forever, amen. Sticks are made to be wild weapons that will be run through the yard while screaming on the top of one’s lungs.
Now this is key – I’ve learned, there is no taming it. You can only guide as best you can, discipline the truly important stuff, and hope and pray throughout each and every day you don’t end up in the ER.
L mellowed out a bit around age 4. The boy boy is still there for sure, but it’s been reigned in a bit. A bit more dignified boy, if you will. Except when he’s on the football field.
Then comes along pregnancy #2. Deep into blue, I was actually hoping for another boy. I was young. I could keep up, right? Once in awhile I’d get suckered into the darling floral print dresses on Etsy or the thought of designing a room for a little girl, but those thoughts were quickly whisked away at 13 weeks pregnant when the doctor weighed in – she was 90% sure it was a boy. At 20 weeks it was confirmed.
And suddenly, I was a mom of two (big) boys. Maybe this one would be calmer. A bit more refined from the start.
It’s funny just to read that sentence. The other morning I chased B down the street 13 times while he flew away on his scooter. What if he fell over? What if a car came? What if he ran off the road into the nearby swamp? None of these thoughts crossed his carefree mind, summer blonde hair blowing in the wind. They were all going through my head as I sprinted after him, over and over and over again.
There is no stopping his energy. If anything, it’s more intense than L’s ever was. He’s trying to keep up, naturally. And boy is he ever, and he’s kicking my butt in the process. My primary goal with B – and L – is to run them. Run them until they can’t run anymore. Into bed they go at 8:00, and onto the couch I go by 8:10.
Boys are exhausting. Exhausting. Boys are so weird. They smell. They hit. They end up in the ER. Boys are obsessed with sticks, balls, butts, and forts. They are intense. If they are awake, they are moving. Watching a movie consists of flipping oneself on the couch, over the couch, off the couch, halfway on/halfway off the couch. I don’t think L sat and watched an entire show, sitting even somewhat still, until he was 7.
Boys also love to cuddle. Even to this day L wants to sit on me, all 70 pounds of him. Then of course B gets jealous and the wrestling begins all over again. I just hope I can get out of the way in time. Ten minutes later someone is always crying and it’s usually L. Two minutes later they are back at it like nothing happened; so is the cycle of boys.
When all is said and done with this great amount of energy comes an incredible drive to, simply put, love life. It’s wonderful and inspiring to watch. Every day. I hope I can continue to guide it well but also, continue to let it be. Because honestly? Boys, in all their glory, completely rock.