I’m the lone female in a house full of men. (Well, unless you count the cat, but she hides in our bedroom closet all the time—and I can’t really blame her.) My life is filled with all things boy. Pee, basketball, baseball, balls… I’m outnumbered, out-manned—what’s a girl to do?
On the one hand, it’s great—I’ve already told my husband that when the time comes for “the talk” it’s all him. And honestly, the teenage years frighten me, but for some reason, boys scare me a little less. I think it’s partly because I don’t want to fight with a hormonal teenage girl over booty shorts and boys.
There’s also something special about a boy’s love for his mama. Dad is definitely the coolest—believe me, I hear it all the time—but when there’s an owie to kiss, I’m your girl. There is a closeness and sweetness to those tiny boy snuggles and they definitely love their mama.
But then there are the gross parts. Pee. Everywhere. Can someone please explain why it’s so hard to hit the toilet? And the smells. What died in my toddler’s shoes? How is it possible for a four-year old to smell so bad? I thought I had a few more years before this happened! We will not even talk about the obsession with putting our hands down our pants and running around naked…
And the sports. First of all, I’m not exactly what you might call athletic in the first place, but the whole sports obsession baffles me. How many times can you watch the same play over… and over… again?! Also—why does every single game boys play become a contact sport?
All the smells aside, I love my house full of males. And pee. I laugh at the sheer craziness and marvel at the ability to go nonstop from dawn to dusk. I take the snuggles and dodge the punches. Most of the time I’m one of the boys, and I love it. I was meant to be these crazy kids’ mom.
When I’m not and I’m the evil mommy monster. You can probably find me hiding in the closet with the cat. She understands me.