Day 38: Boys

I am so grateful for the awesome privilege of being the mother of boys. I never expected to give birth to sons. I mean, girls reigned in my family and the men (fathers) were shadowy figures in the background. This was my impression and probably arose from my maternal grandfather being an extremely quiet man and my father working early shifts which meant he went to bed hours before my sister and I.

So when I was expecting my first baby I just assumed that I would have a girl. I mean, I was a girl, and it just seemed natural that I would have a girl. A son was a shock. A good shock, but a shock all the same. What did I know about boys? (Next to nothing and some of my family would tell you that nothing has changed.) How was I meant to bath or change a little boy? I mean, they were ... different.

In the beginning it wasn't too hard. I could talk cars, Lego, and trains at their level. PlayStation hadn't yet been released and I knew zilch about rugby (still do). Now I do my hardest to look intelligent when they start talking technology, computer games, cars (not Matchbox) or anything else likely to make my eyes glaze over.

From the moment I held my firstborn son on my arms, I have loved being the mother of boys. I was never bothered by the toilet seat being left up (after all, I have two hands, I can put it down myself, and since I was well and truly outnumbered it was probably more equitable that I bowed to their  preference rather than the other way around) and bath time meant lots of water and lots of mess but no tears or tantrums. And if I spent Mothers Day in Children's Ward, well that's just all part of being a mother of sons.

Pre-teen sons were pretty uncomplicated (it's a different story once they become adolescents - then they start talking male-talk and I suddenly didn't understand them any more), and they only ever required two sets of clothes: the set they had on and the set in the wash (this is the place where mothers of little girls who change their outfit six times in an hour start envying me).

Adult sons are pretty cool, too. I still don't understand half of what they talk about and when they come home they still spend too long in the shower, but it's awesome to look up (and nowadays I look up to all my sons) at this handsome specimen of manhood and think that he was once my wee little baby boy! I'm grateful that I have been so blessed to have raised such five wonderful, incredible, handsome sons.


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