I assumed I was just training him to be a good husband.
Sure he’s not speaking in full sentences yet, but some things just needn’t wait.
Like chivalry. And household chores.
He will, without fail, follow me into the laundry room, flip over a basket and climb on top so he can help load the washing machine with me. He loves to put his dishes and cups away, and recently vacuumed the entire house with me (causing the process to take 4 times longer than normal – but, I must admit, the sweetness of the experience was entirely too delightful to have it any other way).
This dude is going to make some woman very happy one day.
One day in the very, incredibly, far-off distant future, of course.
But, and here’s where it get’s tricky…
After seeing my almost-2-year-old son walk past me today sporting a tutu and layers of necklaces, pushing a stroller loaded with Littlest Petshop goodies, I have come to the conclusion that my daughter needs a sister.
Stat.
Don’t get me wrong; he loves cars and tools and bugs, including smashing all three together on a fairly regular basis, and he will be as dirt-encrusted as humanly possible as often as I’ll allow it (which, with all this rain, has been a daily occurrence).
He is all boy. He just appears to have a little “domesticated hero” sprinkled in for good measure.
And I think I like it (when I’m not trying to convince his sister that boys don’t wear dresses and tiaras, and no, he doesn’t need his toenails painted, thank you very much).
So what if he adores walking around the house in my high-heels. I’m sure his big sister will have him climbing trees and grading the driveway with her in no time too.
Until then, I suppose, I will simply giggle as they have tea parties and play dress-up, put my foot down about nail-painting the boy, and root for as much bug and frog capture as possible.
Here’s to multi-faceted loin fruit!
On with the husband training, I say!
