“It’s a boy.”
Words I never thought I would hear. OK, I’ll be honest – I actually cried when the ultrasound tech uttered those words.
The week before our big reveal ultrasound I went through the old trunk of girly outfits. Cute little dresses with precious buttons and ruffles. Adorable sun hats and bows. Tiny pink saddle shoes.
With three words my world went from pink ruffles to obnoxious onesies with super heroes and suggestive phrases like “I love boobies” and “chick magnet.”
I started to panic. What does one DO with a boy? I didn’t know how to make truck noises, pee standing up or get excited about motorcycles. Every little boy I saw seemed to be covered in mud with remnants of a sucker streaming down his chin, laughing hysterically as he burped (again). I couldn’t even let my mind wander to the idea of parenting a teen-aged boy with all their hormones and excessive eating.
I began to secretly mourn the absence of a future mother/daughter relationship and began to resent my husband for the afternoons when he and the boy would go play ball in the park, leaving me to cook and clean.
Then I met my son, Henry.
At two years old, his favorite things are trucks, trains and dirt. He already laughs when he toots and he sweats like a grown man. But he also loves playing in his kitchen, feeding his baby doll milk, walking on his tip toes and kissing everyone he meets. I frequently snuggle my nose into his neck just to breathe him in – dirt and all.
When planning our weekends, it’s easy for me to gloss over the tea parties and princess events. Instead, I throw my hair in a ponytail, pull on a t-shirt and head to Touch-A-Truck at the Agricultural Hall of Fame where I exclaim passionately about fire trucks, helicopters and “OMG, a tow truck!” Or we’ll go for a toddler-sized run on the Plaza, picking up sticks, rocks and trash along the way.
All my fears about being a boy mom seem silly now. A whole new world of joy has been unleashed! As it turns out, I really like playing in the dirt. I find myself excitedly noticing tractors, even when driving by myself. And don’t even get me started about the happiness I feel when I hear a train whistle in the distance …
All because I met my son, Henry.