March 17th, 2012, posted by Aimee
When you see a story about “fashions for kids,” do you turn the page … mainly because the majority of your child’s clothes come from discount outlet stores, second hand stores or Target?
o Do the well-intentioned art supplies, crayons and paper in your child’s room rarely or never get used?
o Do your eyes glaze over when a friend describes the drama in her daughters’ brownie troop or between girls in her daughter’s class?
o Do random people regularly observe that your child “sure has a ton of energy”?
o Do you step on Lego pieces throughout your house most days of the week?
o Do you spend most of your free days plotting out ways to tire your little one out?
If you answered yes to more than one of the above questions, you are most definitely a “Boy Mom” just like me.
Unlike the vast majority of expectant couples out there, Nate and I chose to not find out the sex of our baby while I was pregnant. We said it was because we cherished the surprise and that we didn’t care one way or the other what we were having. The truth on my side at least is that I didn’t want to find out because I was afraid if the doctor told me the munchkin in my belly was a boy, I would freak out. I had zero interest in having a male child in my life. Conversely, I worried that if my husband – a reluctant dad in the early days – found out we were having a girl he would not be excited or perhaps might be even a bit bummed.
Lo and behold, when Tav was born, we were of course just thrilled that he was healthy, and even I settled right into the idea of having a mini “Nate.”
“Boys are awesome. I can’t even imagine having a girl,” I told people. And it’s the truth even now; I cannot even imagine having a girl. So much so that even as I tend to identify most with the idea of being a working mom, I also feel a possibly stronger pull toward the notion of being a “boy mom.” Despite the fact that I am admittedly a girly-girl who cannot stand most of the stereotypical male staples and past-times in life (e.g., red meat, spectator sports, beer, video games, gambling), I still feel more thrilled than terrified at the prospect of raising a boy into this world. And it’s harder for me to even maintain a friendship with someone who only has the girl mom experience.
Boys are simple, for one thing. Even in pre-school, I am hearing about the drama and cat fights between girls that build to a crescendo by middle school. With boys, there are no tears (or many fewer) over hurt feelings about “who is your best friend” and so on.
Boys are also cheaper at this stage at least. Every time I see the well-clad daughters of my friends, I am reminded of my childhood, begging my mother for new outfits and new shoes and wishing I could dress as well as Lisa Callan down the street who never seemed to wear the same thing twice. Girl clothes are so much more adorable of course, and then there’s the temptation of dressing a little mini me. But with boys, it is a lot easier to simply grab whatever is on the racks at TJ Maxx or H&M and call it a day.
Just about the only thing that might cause me to reconsider the “boys are better/easier” assessment is the energy level factor. Whereas my friends with girls can set their kids up with art and crafts supplies or let them play in a room with Barbies, my son is very rarely ever able to sit down for longer than five minutes at a time. Instead, he’s a whirlwind, jetting from one project to another, running from place to place and generally exhausting. After five years, of course, I am accustomed to this rush of activity on a daily basis, though, and cannot imagine any other pace than go-Go-GO.
Any way you slice it though, us “boy moms” know each other well, and we stick together, maybe more than the working moms do. We understand the craziness and the chaos much better than the tears and the drama.