I used to think that children born to the same parents, raised in the same home, with the same rules & morals, would be somewhat alike. I totally understand that our personalities are as different as a Minnesota summer & winter, but I still thought (maybe hoped?) that we'd all have a little something in common.
Boy was I wrong!!!
Babies are babies - whether a boy or a girl. Diapers are diapers. Onesies are onesies. Breastfeeding is breastfeeding - bottles with pink rings or blue rings are almost identical. It doesn't matter if I'm awake at 2am because of a sleepless girl or a restless boy. But NOW... almost 2 years into this - I'm finally starting to see some major differences in parenting a little boy -vs- 4 little girls. And I'd like to commend all my friends on their little boys.
Heh... there I was all these years - wondering why they didn't discipline those boys. Rolling my eyes as I watched them tear across a baseball diamond trying to catch their son while a game was in play. I watched their kids spend hours just DOING things. Nothing specific - just things. Non-stop. Constantly being in action - and I secretly wondered just how much red food-dye these people were feeding these children! I was shocked at times - and appalled at others.
I was obviously a much better parent.
Then it hit me. Literally. Right in the side of the head with one of those plastic golf clubs that all three little kids got for Easter this year (because they matched and it was cute and I could get a picture of them all playing golf in the backyard with their Grandpa).
And then he turned to hit his sister and ran like a thief! We sat on the floor and did the only thing we could do. We laughed. Which was wrong on so many levels - but the surprise and shock of an almost 2 year old wielding a plastic golf club in this way did us in. We heard him circle the stairs - patter through the kitchen - and saw him come back into the dining-room heading for us in the living-room just swinging away.
Of course I stopped him and scolded him - and held back my laughter the best I could. And his bottom lip stuck out further than I thought possible.
At that moment - something else hit me.
I was so wrong about my friends.
I've since joined the "I have a boy" club - and for anyone who does have a boy, you all know there certainly IS a club. We earn badges almost daily for competing in events such as "lets scream for Grandpa all through Best Buy" and "I can change a diaper faster than you can pee on me" and for spending 3 continuous hours walking/jogging behind you while you wander through every square foot of our yard trying to push the double stroller and refusing to let me help. Most of us moms could easily diaper an octopus in under 30 seconds or successfully re-buckle a monkey in a carseat while driving down the interstate doing 70 mph.
My little boy
I've been humbled with him - and know I haven't even seen the tip of the iceberg. The stories I've heard about his Dad weren't exaggerated as I originally thought. There is truth to them and it scares me. A lot. I'm nowhere near as experienced as other moms to boys and know I have years of gray hairs to earn ahead of me - but am thankful to know that so many of my friends are able to recommend the best hair coloring brands as they've walked this road before me!