This is for the mothers of boys. To the mothers who find ways to sneak in purple and pink into every outfit as their boys roll their eyes (“I love this pink bow tie! It’ll look so cute on you!”) To the mothers who have watched 100 YouTube videos on how to perfectly style the Justin Bieber hairstyle look on their own kids only to have them wipe off the gel within two seconds. To the mothers who slowly die inside when your boys would rather wear sweatpants every day than the skinny dark denim jeans you carefully picked out at Gap Kids. This is for the mothers, like me, who always wanted, needed, PLEADED to have a girl but was blessed with boys instead.
I am a girly girl. I have never gone to the gym, pool, or Walmart without full makeup on. I once put on lipstick just so I could grab the mail. My favorite color is sequin and glitter and feathers. I wear a dress while backpacking. I camp with my hair straightener. I am overdressed for every single occasion (“Casual? What do you mean? This IS my casual”). One of my students once asked me why I was wearing a prom dress to school. My prompt response: “It’s Tuesday and you have to be prepared for everything.” I was MEANT to have girls. I have been waiting, praying, and expecting it since I was 8 years old. Yet, unexpectedly, my two sonograms clearly indicated that I was having boys. This, my friends, is my fate. Perhaps if I wouldn’t have expected it so much, I might’ve been surprised with a baby girl.
Please don’t get me wrong; I LOVE my boys.
They bring me such joy and happiness. They make me so happy to be their mom. They let me dress them (sometimes), they let me encourage cool new haircuts (sometimes), and even compliment me on my dresses and hairdos (sometimes). But boys are not girls. They are rambunctious, crude, disgusting, and positively alien to me sometimes. They are incredibly different than girls and I am left unable to get my hair and makeup fixes that I desperately crave.
Oh, the boy horror stories…
I was recently swapping boy horror stories with friends who are also mothers of boys and we all agreed that none of us were prepared for how gross our little boys were going to be. I heard stories about a boy who refused to wear underwear for weeks until it was negotiated that he must wear them at school and at church. I heard stories of boys eating their own poop; boys farting and burping during funerals, baptisms, dentist appointments (why? why? why?!). Boys who wore the same dirty, torn pair of sweatpants for months. Boys who refused to shower, bathe, wipe themselves. Now while some mothers of girls could probably share similar stories, I am sure that most could admit that little boys and little girls are extremely different in their ability to be gross.
My ultimate horror story began when my oldest was six years old and was becoming a bit too independent, told me with his big, beautiful brown eyes how much he loved me, asked me if he could have my hand for a second, and then loudly blew his snotty nose on my arm. The snot was so thick that there was a stream of it dripping off my arm. I was so shocked, so speechless, so disgusted, that I cried. My husband came home and laughed as I told him the story. Men will never understand.
I had kept all of my Babysitters Club, Sweet Valley High, American Girl, and Judy Blume books for the girl I would never have. I kept my pink Barbie Corvette for the girl I would never have. I bought a baby cheerleading outfit from my alma mater for the girl I would never have. I bought a fancy china girls’ tea set for the girls I would never have. And it’s ok. I have found them a good home to girls who have hopefully appreciated them, played with them, enjoyed them.
So here’s to the mothers who love to play superheroes with their boys. To the mothers who love to make messes in science experiments. To the mothers who will dig in the dirt to find earthworms. To the mothers who can build the largest LEGO towers that don’t fall over. To the mothers who wanted girls but have still managed how to love their boys, just the same. Here’s to you, in your fabulous dresses, gorgeous makeup styles, and matching handbags. Here’s to you, ladies; may you get your fixes elsewhere.
