Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Raising Little Boys

"Please tell me you see a vagina." I said to my Obstetrician, the fabulous Dr. E as he moved the ultrasound wand around my abdomen.  It was early in my pregnancy with the youngest Baby C and I was about to find out if I was carrying another Frank or perhaps a Christine Jr.  "Well"...he said slowly "I do see a vagina, but it isn't the baby's..."  While I most definitely appreciated my doctor's sense of humor, I had to acknowledge a teeny tiny speck of disappointment.  Where was the baby girl I had dreamed about since I was a little girl? How was I supposed to play dolls and spend days shopping and getting pedicures with, of all things, another little boy?!?!  Little boys smell like wet dogs.  They throw balls at you.  They put boogers in weird places.  They like blowing things up and taking things apart. They like destruction in general. They enjoy farting, for God's sake.

Once when my sweet little sister, Sister, and I were spending the weekend together (and by 'spending the weekend together, I mean that I was sitting on the couch watching 'The Lion King' and occasionally handing her my bowl so she could refill it with Rotel dip.  I probably also jiggled my cup at her when my Coke was running low ) I overheard her talking to my oldest nephew in his bedroom.  I almost couldn't believe my ears.  "Did you pee in this glove?  Please tell me you DIDN'T pee in this glove?!?!"  Turns out, he had, indeed peed in the glove.  And he stashed it in his bottom dresser drawer so he could continue to pee in the glove.  Sister walked out of his room, shaking her head.  "Never have kids." she said. "Never fucking ever."

There's another incident I remember when said nephew was at my Mother's house.  Apparently, he ran out of toilet paper and instead of yelling from the bathroom for someone to bring him some, decided to take matters into his own hands by scooting across her bedroom carpeting.  Like a dog with worms. Or a really, really itchy butthole.  The look on my Mother's face when she told me was priceless.

What's funny is that I remember distinctly thinking to myself 'if I ever do have kids, they'll most certainly never pee in a glove or wipe their asses on the bedroom floor'.  I can practically hear God laughing. 

When Big Baby C was around two years old, he emptied all of my cupboards and put all of my pans neatly in a row.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed that all of the pans were mysteriously...wet.  "I pee teed in the pans." he said proudly.  The fact that it wasn't in a glove was little consolation.

My friends are full of stories about their sons- most involving poop, noxious smells and the like.  So yes, boys are most definitely little factories of ick.  But do you want to know what else I've discovered about raising sons?

Nobody loves a Mommy like a little boy- with both hands grabbing your face for kisses.  They love with a sense of ferocity- they would fight tigers for you.   Their emotions and feelings are right there on the surface, exploding around you with an intensity you've never known before.  They will make you stronger and tougher.  They'll make you fierce.  They'll make you laugh.

The nephew I spoke about above? He's almost 20 and a college wrestler.  He makes great grades and he's a fine human being.  He's gorgeous and funny.   And he loves sweet Sister with all of his heart.  Gives me hope for the Baby C's!