Mothering Boys

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:
Truth #1: 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.
Truth #3: 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.
Truth #4: 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.
Truth #5: 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.
Truth #6: Everything, and I mean everything, makes some sort of deep throaty growling noise. Cars, ninjas, bears, and sleeping boys alike.
Truth #7: 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 appropriate footwear.
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 son.
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.
Truth #11: 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.
Truth #12: I've also learned that nothing is sacred, and they will be the first to announce it.
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."
I 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 chests.
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.