I’ve heard some funny stuff about being a mum exclusively to boys. Some of it genuinely funny – like how they will apparently talk only in grunts for a few of their teenage years, and take over the house with game stations and dodgy smelling deodorants. And some of it a bit, well, odd. Like how my family would be complete if we had a girl – err, no thanks, I can barely cope with the children I’ve got without throwing another in to mix – boy or girl. Or how a son is a son until he takes a wife but a daughter is a daughter for the rest of your life. Firstly, do people mean to be so rude? Secondly, my sons will always be my sons, and are absolutely not being raised to find and marry a replacement mother. Creepy.
Personally, I think whether or not my children remain close to me as adults will be much more dependent on our individual relationships, personalities and circumstances, rather than their genitalia. It is not something I am concerned about at all. We chose to have children, not a certain sex of child, and we are raising our family as individuals, not offspring who must stick to us like glue forever and always. Although, boys, if you’re reading this as adults, do remember I gave birth to you and it really hurt, so be sure to bring cake each time you visit. Thanks.
All of that said, there are of course differences in the sexes, which I’m sure will become more apparent as they grow. Right now they are four and one, and largely unaffected by silly stereotypes such as pink for girls and blue for boys. They love dinosaurs and dolls, reading and running, music and monster trucks, crafts and cars, pirates and princesses, kitchens and lawnmowers and other contrasting ends of stupid expectations around gender and play.
Last week, however, as the four of us were sat together being silly, I was ordered to the other sofa by my oldest son because ‘This sofa is for people with willies – no girls allowed!’ Of course, as both a feminist and general lazy bones, I didn’t move – despite the lack of penis criteria. So that told him.
I am thinking I won’t be above using any potential differences to my advantage in the future though, like if they take after my husband with his football obsession, and he and them leave me with a free Saturday every other week as they go to the match. So even if I don’t have someone to paint my nails with in the future, I’m honestly fine having a bit of me-time while they play zombie wars on the Xbox – I’m quite sure I won’t mind.
And if my home interiors shopping involves buying VELUX Star Wars blinds for their room instead of pink unicorn ones, I think I’ll survive. In fact, I’m not really a big fan of pink anyway.
I realise before anyone lynches me that I am hugely generalising and that if I’d had a daughter they may well have been footy and Star Wars mad, and that one of my sons may indeed hanker after pink unicorn décor (and that is totally fine if they do – I’ll get over my pink dislike). My point is more that despite what some people seem to think, being a mum of boys holds no disappointment for me at all.
And whether the upcoming years sees me standing on the sides of muddy football pitches, OR shopping with my boundary-breaking boys for unicorn wallpaper, to me, my family is perfect – and exactly what it was meant to be.
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