Little boys are somewhat foreign territory to me.
Okay, fine…totally foreign territory.
I must confess I was just a little terrified when I found out we were having a boy.
I just don’t know how to do boy stuff.
And I must say, I’m quite comfortable with the lack of flaunted bodily functions, daily need for superglue, and pain infliction. Don’t get me wrong…our daughter does her fair share of “pull my finger…!” {thanks auntie Poo for that delightful new trick *ahem*}, project destruction and accidental toe squishing. But it’s different. Or so I hear {and see, when friends with little boys are over}.
I realize there are always exceptions to the rule. But this has been my experience so far.
So I sometimes wonder how good of a mum I’m going to be to my growing boy.
I’m not that well acquainted with frogs and mud. I play dolls and kitchen pretty well, though.
I interupt the regularly scheduled broadcast of this blog to bring you this lovely shot of my dying dill weed…
Aaah yes…back to baby boys.
That unusual looking little thing in his diaper caused a whole stir of decision-making before his arrival…to circumcise or not to circumcise? That was the toughie for us.
You see, I have 3 sisters…our first child was a girl…and my sister’s first child was a girl.
Boys just don’t run in our family. We didn’t think we even had the recipe to make boys.
Until now.
Now we have our Bug…and we just love him to bits! Boys rock, really they do!
And I am determined to blossom into a stellar “boy’s momma” {that would be the opposite of a “momma’s boy”, in case you didn’t catch that}.
So to serve as visual encouragement during my seasons of doubt {so dramatic, I am}…I present you with this stimulating photographic evidence that I’m expanding my repertoire to include more, well…boyish creations:
My rabid, man-eating ostrichy Raptor thing.
Repeat after me: Oooooh Aaaaah.
And, my most valiant effort yet…
The terrifying Helmeted Spike-a-Rhino-Saurus Rex.
{But shhhhh…don’t tell anyone. It’s actually a girl in disguise.
See the udder?}
Yes. I’m a lost cause.
I really need to sign up for some “dirt-lovin’, rough, tough momma’s of boys” classes and stop being so stinking girly.
{I can’t help myself}.
