Jasper, my beamish boy, you just turned 5. Before you came along, I had not birthed anyone even remotely male. (It’s true.) Since then, I’ve been a big ol’ vocal opponent of gendered anything, insisting that boys and girls are exactly the same, and fighting any “all boys do xyz” myths.
And since then, I’ve come around to realize that sometimes the things people say about boys are the undeniable truth.
Such as…
Boys are all about bodily functions
There’s no way around this one. Never before in my life had I been the captive audience of a one-man show entitled Can I Tell You How Far I Peed. Then again, never before in my life had I been asked to hold someone’s hand while they pooped and cheerfully told me how much they loved me. There’s a very specific demographic in which this scenario works, but boy, I’ll tell you Jasper- this one kinda does.
Boys are messy
Remember the other day when you came home covered in paint because you had created a “beautiful rainbow at sunset…with a small gun that’s really only a blaster down in the corner” for me? Aside from that last part, I’d never been happier to Stain Stick a hoodie.
Boys are wild animals
I’m fairly certain you’re part puppy. Your tightly wound little body has so much energy- and it has to go somewhere, right? So you spend your days bouncing and jumping and skipping three stairs at a time and running like you’re being timed. (And sometimes you time yourself.) But you’re also part kitten. There’s nothing quite like the feel of your pajama-clad coltish legs climbing into our bed and scooting yourself into position- any position- to achieve ultimate snuggle action. (The lower half of your body, that is. Your torso, head, and arms stretch and turn until they’re in the best resting spots and you can finally fall back to sleep, utterly sure of your place in the world and in my arms.)
Boys are so loud
I mean, this one is really true. The way you narrate ninja stories and cause Matchbox car pileups and laugh like a hyena when upside-down wrestling? So. Loud. Equally loud: Excited requests for “the sugar plum fairy song that sounds like doorbells” and the way you report the cats’ daily doings to your sisters as you pile in for story time. Related: You can continue to proclaim that “Mom’s my BFF” as loudly as you want, pal. Nary an “inside voice” request from me.
Boys adore their mamas
Okay, there are no downsides to this. Because although you and your Dad have a mutual adoration-fest going on, and even though your sisters and I are solidly the Girl Team (with a not-so-secret handshake and everything), it’s pretty marvelously evident that you view me as some benevolent goddess who’ll drop anything to carry your tall, tall self in a Baby Bjorn at the slightest provocation. (No, seriously, I’ll do it. Do you need me to do it?)
You are everything “they” said that boys would be. And yet you’re everything beautifully unexpected, too; empathetic, artistic, a serious-eyed little boy who treasures pebbles and glass figurines alike, a bearhug encased in a flying sledgehammer wrapped up in the softest, most plush blankie (and decorated with beautiful depictions of the Death Star and doe-eyed hedgehogs).
So I’ll tell you the same thing I always tell your big sisters: Never change…but please, please, keep changing.
I love you to Pluto. (It used to be the plain ol’ “to the moon” until you informed me that Pluto’s probably lonely, so Pluto it is.)
Happy birthday, my sweet, sweet Roo. Being a Boy Mom- being your Mom- is a marvy gig with unmatched perks. But I’d expect nothing less.
Boys are- you are- pretty great.
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