Anyone who knew me BBC (Before the Baby C's) knows first hand that I'm the girliest girl in the world. I have daytime perfume and bedtime perfume. My favorite color is sparkly followed by pink. I occasionally wear bows in my hair...and I think it rocks! I own a tutu (yes, it's for an adult)The first time my hubby took me to an OU game, I asked him when someone was going to hit a home run (that isn't a lie- ask him. He loves to tell the story) But I've noticed lately that something inside me is...slipping toward the dark side.
I use the term 'ball's out' liberally in conversation. And I'm aware it's referring to testicles. I also say 'jerking off' as in 'stop jerking off and get in the car!' I barely bat an eye when the oldest Baby C does his Ace Ventura 'Let me asssssk you a question' routine buck naked, legs behind his head. I can burp the alphabet (I know, I know...really classy but that one was in self defense...it's a long story.) I've had to say 'Wash your penis and your butt and also your face. But wash your face FIRST' so much that it's an automatic response whenever one of my children (or my husband- I'm not gonna lie) gets in the bath. I'm no longer afraid of balls flying at my face. Yeah- you heard me BALLS! I can't say 'pick up your balls' or anything else that even remotely sounds dirty even when it isn't because it makes me have a case of church giggles. (That might be because I'm extremely immature.) It makes sense to me that the babiest Baby C needs a cheerio to pee on in the potty because I 'get' that men need targets.
Nothing takes the 'girl' out of you faster than watching your son play football. You WILL yell 'Rip his heart out! Eat it while it's still beating!' Of course then there's the embarrassment of having another parent point out that it's just practice and you're encouraging the cannibalism of his own teammates, but that's irrelevant. The point is, having boys around makes you more aggressive, too. I've wrestled my way through cooking dinner (I can soooo shoot for the knees AND cook spaghetti- the kids have weak knees- they go down like flies). I've wrestled my way through the grocery store, doctor's appointments and car trips. I fear nothing!
But I really love all of the things it has taught me about boys. Men, too of course. I love how loving my sons has made me love my husband more. I feel like I understand so much more about men's needs than I used to- men want to kill something, blow something up or wrestle. Then, they want a sandwich. They may also want to start a fire. (if they're a pyro- the babiest Baby C is so a pyro...I'll let you know how that one turns out)
The point I'm trying to make here is about tolerance, my friends- boys need an awful lot of it!