Some of you might know that I'm due in a few days for baby number three. Some of you might know that baby number 3 is a not so little boy. At each measuring the midwives say, like they're on a farm evaluating a tractor or a steer, "Yep, this one is going to be a big'un. I'd be surprised if he were less than 10 pounds" Really? REALLY? You know what? Just lie to me! Anyhow, I digress, since this is supposed to be about boys. Beware, if you don't like gender stereotyping, you're not going to like this post. That said, I'm a week away from delivering my third child, so I dare you to say anything!
When I found out I was pregnant with number three, I immediately checked every gender folklore site on the Internet. Every one of them. Yep, from the back of beyond, all of them. I got my hopes up that number three would be that girl I was waiting for. I do love my boys, but I'm outnumbered, and I had visions of tutus and pink and cute little toys and outfits. Gender stereotyping be damned, I was having a girl and she was going to wear pink dammit! She was also going to be my fierce little feminist, she would have a black belt by the time she was 12, she would be mouthy, wise and all things every tough and beautiful woman should be, just like her mommy. *g* Well, I went to the ultrasound and my little Elizabeth/Victoria turned out to be a little Desmond. I looked, I checked, I verified. I left the room feeling "Oh well, so long as he's healthy" got into the car thinking "It's not the end of the world, you can always have more kids." Started driving down the street and next thing I knew I was bawling my eyes out. DH called home eventually, terrified of the results and caught his pregnant hormonal wife blubbering on about wedding dresses and pedicures, coffee and girl time and figured we were having another boy. Bravely he came home that night.
I learned a lot about gender disappointment over the next few weeks and admit that I was in a weepy frame of mind. Part of me was ashamed that I wasn't happy. How many people would kill to be able to have one boy, let alone three? I was surprised myself at how hard a time I was having coming to terms with it. Even though it's normal and lots of people deal with it, it still felt like something I should just get over. It didn't help in the little while after, every time someone asked if I knew what I was having and I replied boy, they would say something to the effect of pity or that I was about to experience the biggest disaster since the sinking of the Titanic.
One day, I was sitting in our family room with DH and my two little nuts running around. Me and DH went there to try and hide and have an adult conversation, but they sniffed us out as quickly as bloodhounds do their quarry. As we sat mourning the violence and brutal demise of our conversation, I watched my two guys, laughing and bouncing, making up silly games, never sitting still for a minute, but finding pure joy in just about everything and I suddenly came to terms with having another boy.
There is just something special about them. If I had to describe little boys as an animal, a puppy is the first thing that comes to mind. Silly, clumsy, quick to fall, but quick to get up. Ready to learn, eager to please, takes delight in EVERYTHING. Not always the creature who makes the sanest choices right off the bat, but they adapt. Pretty much set on perma-happy, ready to devour anything tasty...and not so appetizing. Bounding to see you, quick with hugs and kisses, bringing you treats, whether it means a half dead frog or a posey of dandelions, proud of their bounty.
Yes there are times, like once in the lobby of our school, where three moms and 6 boys between us watched as they bounced off the walls, you feel like you need a support group. One mom pronounced it loudly in the lobby that day. Maybe we do, but then again, we all have developed a sense of humour that I think you only can with boys...Quite frankly, it's a sick sense of humour, but it gets us through the day. I mean, when you have to deal with your child running around with underwear on his head, bringing you every item in the house in his mouth, barking like a dog and wearing your shoes, you get a little warped and don't even get me started on older boys and teenage boys.
Soon those teen years will be upon me and I'll be broke from feeding and housing my three boys and their friends I'm sure. I'll ask them how their days went and I'll get a couple of grunts and get interrogated on where the nearest stash of snacks are (note to self, find better hiding spot for my stash). What's left of the money after feeding them will be spent on helping them go to post secondary. I know an insane amount of mothers who have boys university age and up, and most of them have chosen to spread their wings and fly to somewhere far, far away. I watch them struggle with the thought of their little boys who once made them mud pies go off in search of adventures and girls, I try to comfort them the best I can, but I don't know if it makes a dent, only time will I imagine.
It's not that girls don't do any of these things, but us gals, we usually do something considerate, like you know, call, check in, see how old mom is doing? We'll often see if mom wants to go for coffee or shopping, or something! Boys, they seem content to go their way and while they do check in, the reaching out work is usually left for us, much like the laundry.
Unfortunately for my guys, their mother is an excellent outreach worker. They can be in the middle of the Gobi desert and I'll find a way to get to them, just to see how they're doing, remind them what time Thanksgiving dinner is at and that attendence is mandatory. :) In the meantime, I've embraced the silliness, the madness, the never ending noise and crazy games they come up with. The bouquets of dandelions will be pressed and the mud pies stored somewhere (OUTSIDE!) carefully. I'll listen to their wonderful song that they made up titled "I gotta boogie!" repeated over, and over and over again...those are the only lyrics. They're already laughing at their bodily functions and have a morbid curiosity of watching poop swirl down the toilet bowl. That said, I am looking forward to meeting boy number three and seeing how he adds to the madness. I'll embrace being the Queen of this kingdom and watch episodes of Malcolm in the Middle in horror. I'll run screaming to wine night with my girlfriends every week, and treat myself to regular hair treatments, pedicures and anything girly. I'll try not to blame my husband too much when the going gets rough, but just to remind him that I do mourn the common sense God or nature has bestowed upon us with an XX chromosone, I'm also planning on getting myself a girl poodle and dying it pink!