I grew up in a predominately female family and the few boys that we did have were always being doted upon. My family was old-fashioned and a son was like the grand prize. The boys carry on the family legacy after all, so you can imagine my surprise (and delight) when I gave birth to my two boys.
This cloud of superhero-ness, to me, has always surrounded mothers of all boys. Watching them run to and from soccer practice and baseball fields, handing over cleats and mitts to sweaty miniature men. I know that moms of girls do this same thing, but it just felt different to me, maybe because I already knew all about the girl thing. The lives of boys have always been so mysterious to me; I can remember watching my little brother grow up terrorizing the block and, though my mother raised us all with the same sense of excitement, she would always say, “A mother’s girls are her best friends, but there’s something different about a boy.”
I was nicknamed Miss Priss from the tender age of three when I fell in love with my very first handbag (it is important to note that our love affair is still going strong). I carried that bag everywhere, including the bathroom and to bed. I was the type of little girl who was used to tea parties, ballet recitals, and piano lessons. I loved sparkle and ruffles and would wear white gloves to the ballpark. I had the most decorated charm necklace on the block and knew how to curl hair like a pro. Mud-pies and sling shots were of unknown existence to me.
However, these days, instead of sipping tea from dainty porcelain teacups, I launch Tonka trucks off of the front porch steps to see whose can fly the furthest. I have to admit that I still have much to learn about the adventurous world of little boys. As hard as I try, I still squeal when Ace brings his newest friend home to meet his mom; last week it was a strange bug that looked like a grasshopper-moth hybrid of some sort.
So for now my beautiful gray porcelain tea set with the hand-painted pink flowers will stay wrapped in its tissue paper on the top shelf of my closet and my purse will be filled with action figures and Tonka trucks. I will continue to sign checks with crayons and attempt to pay for groceries with Geoffrey dollars and that is all fine with me.
Though I do have hopes of having a little girl to sew dresses and knit dolls for and to share my Strawberry Shortcake collection with someday, today I am overjoyed building forts and playing knights (the role of the beautiful damsel in distress is always reserved for me) with my two little guys.
Friends and family oftentimes ask if I plan on “going for the girl.” I do pray to have more children, but not for that reason. I love my children, I love being a mom and if that means having a few more boys around, that’s totally fine with me. If I have to continue playing my role of the queen so that my boys can save their kingdoms, hey, long live the queen! Or if I have to play the role of Zorro’s mommy, or whomever else they decide I am, a few more times I’m okay with that. I realize that these are the best years of my life and I won’t wish them away for anything the future might have in store.
As I watch my boys race around the room faster than a speeding bullet in matching Superman jammies, I smile a smile of self-satisfaction. I feel great, just like Superman’s mom should.