Saturday, May 2, 2009
Puppy Dog Tails
It is different having boys in the house after being dominated with girl stuff for almost ten years . Sure, our first little guy is going to be four in December and I should be accustomed to it by now, but every time I get smacked with a flying hot wheel or rammed in the shin by an industrial sized Tonka truck (because our house is shrinking and I am not nearly as nimble as Jack; always failing to jump out of the way of oncoming traffic) you could say that the reality of life with boys hits me.
I have a hyperactive, hyperpokey-prody girl too (who gives her brothers a run for their money) but it simply is not the same. My girls pick at, climb on, and wrestle with their dad. For the longest time I thought I was safe. During my first seven or so years of motherhood my days were relatively quiet until Dad came home, and I was fine with that, figuring it was just 'dad play.' But then my first cub became mobile, and then we added another. Soon I realized that they did not see Mommy as off-limits (in the climbing-wall sense of the word) as their sisters had. How could they not know that mommies are not meant for body slamming!?!
Thankfully, they try and make up for it in other ways. My oldest lives to serve. I have mentioned before that he seems to think I am helpless without him and does not see any need to inconvenience me for anything he thinks he can do himself. I look forward to the day when this does not involve pouring himself milk while standing in the middle of my living room, or having to wonder when a concerned citizen will dutifully contact the authorities because of 'suspicious' bumps or bruises received while scaling the highest tower to rescue the toy that mommy 'couldn't find' earlier in the day. "Look! Si Guy found it, Mommy!"
There is good reason the boy was in a crib up until last week.
And then there is his brother who can accessorize in a way that would make any mother proud. He won't always leave my heels in the middle of the floor for me to trip on; someday he may learn to put them back after he has borrowed them.
Until they grow into their gifts though, I will continue to just lick my wounds. I will try to hold back my tears when I discover that the unnatural combination of milk and Moon Sand were the reason my son did not wake me too early in the morning. I will smile when I hear my son's voice soften as he scoops in on his elbows to get a better look at his baby sister. I will enjoy my one-year-old's sheer bulk when he wiggles his way into my lap and decides to stay for a while.
Most of all, I will continue to wonder: When was it exactly, that I started looking at boys who are taller than I am affectionately; hoping that they have a Mom at home who has been as much changed for the better by their sons lives as I have mine?