I am the mother of two small boys, with a third due almost any day now. Logistically speaking this makes me a true "Boy Mom," although I would hardly claim that I am an expert on mothering boys. I just don't know anything else.
I did, however, earn my Boy Mom street cred early
on by mastering the art of taming the teeny peenie. Things every Boy Mom
must know, like which way to point it so they don't consistently pee
themselves out of every diaper, and the truth that when it comes down to
it, those things are bendy.
A few more truths about mothering boys that I've learned:
Mothering boys can be summed up in two words. The same two words that
conveniently serve as the Boy Scouts of America motto: Be Prepared. "For
what?" you might ask. And the answer is anything. Be prepared
for anything. My boys have quickly forced me outside of my personal
comfort zone. Each day they challenge me to be louder, to get dirtier,
and to find adventure in the mundane.
Truth #2: Everything is an adventure. We do not walk anywhere, we run. My boys are in a
constant state of motion. Even when they are sitting, feet are tapping,
legs are swinging.
There are two volume settings: loud and louder. At our house, when it
becomes suddenly quiet, panic sets in, and I fear for what I may stumble
upon when I seek out the source of the silence.
Everything, even eating, becomes an extreme sport. The end result being
every meal is a contest to see who can finish the fastest while
simultaneously making the largest mess.
Mothering boys means that bottoms are not for sitting. They are for
scratching, tooting, and drumming upon. Likewise, couches are for
climbing, end tables and chairs are for fort-making, and blankets are
meant to be used as capes. Sticks are swords or fishing poles long
before they are just merely discarded pieces of trees.
Everything, and I mean everything, makes some sort of deep throaty
growling noise. Cars, ninjas, bears, and sleeping boys alike.
Staying clean is overrated. Like moths to a flame boys will seek out
dirt and roll in it, the wetter the better. The bigger the puddles, the
higher they will jump, regardless of whether or not they are wearing
Truth #8: Fashion rules do
not apply to boys. In fact, the "mixed prints trend" that seems to be
all the rage this year? It could have easily been started by my toddler
Truth #9: Mothering boys means road trip bathroom breaks just got a whole lot easier. Well, for 75% of the family, that is.
Truth #10: Farts are funny. Like really, really
funny. This I did not know, prior to having boys. Much like I did not
know how much it hurts to step on Lego pieces, Matchbox cars, and those
godforsaken wooden railroad pieces.
Mothering boys is equal parts humbling and puzzling. I've quickly
learned to decipher which types of injuries require a trip to Urgent
Care and which ones can easily be mended with a little liquid band-aid, a
deep breath and a chocolate chip cookie.
I've also learned that nothing is sacred, and they will be the first to
And #13, the biggest truth of all: Mothering boys is not for the faint of heart, but it's also so much more than just "snails and puppy dog tails."
know with each day that passes, my boys and I are growing more and more
different. Soon we'll be separated by different languages entirely,
different interests, and different emotions. A day will come when
they'll ask me about transmissions, transistor radios, soccer penalties,
and lacrosse teams, and sadly, I won't have any answers. I know there
will come a day, all too soon, when they won't eagerly divulge the
events of their days away from me.
That's the hardest truth about
this mothering of boys: even though right now they are still barely 4
and 2 years old, a day will come when I am no longer the love of their
lives, the one they run to with made up stories or the hand they reach
for while outside for a walk.
Mothering boys means more than just
mothering a mess of dirt, sticks, growling noises and farts. It means
savoring the moments in which I am their first love, the mender of
broken hearts and skinned knees, and the one who tucks them in at night,
kissing their tiny foreheads and memorizing the rise and fall of their
It means I am graced with the privilege of raising future
gentlemen and husbands of society, one table fort, one funny fart noise
and one super hero at the dinner table at a time.
It's the truth: Mothering boys is not for the faint of heart.
This story was first posted on What to Expect blog by Ashley Paige.