Friday, October 26, 2012
Okay, let's talk about raising a boy. I had no idea what I was getting into when I saw the monitor at my 20 week appointment. I just knew I really, really wanted a little boy. We stocked up on blue blankets, sports ball sets, trucks, and dinosaur books. And, for well over a year, we had one of the sweetest, most timid, gentle little guys in the neighborhood. Then, we hit the 18 month mark and suddenly he became a little boy [read: monster]. Sticks quickly became swords, rocks had to be chucked in every direction, trucks were crashed in the loudest way possible. We quickly discovered he didn't really like little girls, much preferred the older guys. Didn't have a nurturing bone in his body. And whether he was happy, frustrated, fearful, or absolutely ecstatic, he threw whatever was in his hand at the person in front of him. I don't even want to think about the number of times I have had to apologize for the truck that got lobbed at their child. No one prepared me for the way he needs his space, or the way he needs to run, needs to climb, needs to crash into things. I grew up in a family full of girls, trust me, we didn't appreciate puddle-jumping until much later.
Yet, along with the rough and tumble, for him and his Mama, there has been sweetness and funny like none other. He gives his baby sister kisses, wants to join in the hug every time Andrew and I embrace, shares his cars (when asked), dances the greatest two step shuffle and will unabashedly look at us like we're the best things ever to come him way. So, I will continue to shake my head in dismay, but awe, too. I will continue to to teach him to be gentle and kind, no matter how frustrated he is. And will continue to clap loudly every time he nails that puddle with both feet!