I always thought I’d be the mother of girls. I always pictured myself raising a gaggle of sisters like the March family. I am a girl, I know how to be a girl, I know the good parts about being a girl and I understand the bad parts. I have been through them all. Boys are simply a mystery to me. I don’t understand them. They need too many haircuts, they occasionally smell strange, they always have holes in their socks, they play sports that require too much equipment, and they, um, wrestle. For fun.
We didn’t find out what we were having with baby #1. Because I knew she was a girl. And sure enough, she came out with all of the appropriate lady parts and I cried my fool head off because I was the mama of a girl.
We didn’t find out what we were having with baby #2. Because I knew she was a girl.
But, alas, when the baby came out, there was an unfamiliar appendage attached.
“A boy?” I asked, shocked.
I was the mama of a boy. One look and I knew. I was meant to be the mama of girls AND BOY.
I just hadn’t known it until that very moment.
Sure, he smells weird sometimes. Sure, I am constantly throwing out socks. Sure, he requires more haircuts than his sisters. Sure, he likes to wrestle. Sure, he never ever ever ever tells me anything. But he adds so much character to our family. He is an important piece of the puzzle. One that makes me laugh, and makes me wonder, and makes me cry.
One that watches Sunday football with me.
And one that finds me giving him 100 kisses in a row.
Because, of course.
Me: Josh, there’s no way you can eat that entire cup of frozen yogurt.
Josh: Yes. Yes. Yes.
Me: I bet you that you can’t.
Josh: What do you want to bet?
Me: I don’t know…100 kisses?
Josh: BETTER GET THOSE LIPS READY!
He is 11 tomorrow, this amazing boy of mine.
I can’t even believe it.
What an incredible year 10 has been.
Josh’s growth this year is obvious to anyone who knows him, and I’m not only referring to the length of his too-short jeans hems. As a child with some trepidations, I’d call them, it’s amazing to see the sides of him that have become downright fearless. He still doesn’t like to swim and may repeat level 3 until he’s 47 years old, and I’m okay with that.
Because this year he got up in front of an extremely crowded film festival audience to ask the director of the film a question. Because he isn’t all that crazy about sleepovers and yet he went fairly willingly to overnight camp even though he didn’t know anyone who wasn’t related to him and he even ate quesadillas while he was there. Because he told us that he wants to quit hockey in favor of baseball and went out and had the time of his life on his Bad News Bears team and then went and against all odds took home the championship. Because he challenged me to The Great Egg Nog Challenge of ’12.
And we’re not even going to discuss that first cellphone and first girlfriend thing.
I already know that ELEVEN is going to be filled with Packers games and Ender’s Game and racing through many, many book series and XBOX One and road trips and GIRLS and cereal eating contests and crazy questions and lots of sushi and weekend sleep-ins and winter baseball.
I can’t wait to see what else.