I remember hearing the sonogram technician tell me that I was having a girl. My husband sat next to me and smiled as we found out the sex of our first baby. I started crying. I had really wanted a boy. The poor tech started looking at me like I was crazy and I'm pretty sure my hubby was thinking the same thing. He asked me what was wrong and all I could get out between my sobs was, "She's going to grow up and hate me!" I don't hate my own Mom. Not in the least bit. But we've had words. And maybe that's what I was thinking at that moment... add the delightful pregnancy hormones to the mix and you've got my reaction.
I was pretty sure when we got pregnant for the second time that it was a boy. And low and behold, he was.
When we got pregnant with our third baby, I begged God for another boy. I wanted a playmate for my son and I wanted my first, my oldest daughter, to be my little princess for ever and ever. And I wanted her to have two boys to beat up all the other guys that will come calling one day. But I see now that God giving us another little girl was nothing short of mercy. There's no way I could handle more than one boy.
Nothing has prepared me for having a little boy. I didn't understand boys when I was little and it seems that I understand them even less as an adult.
My pregnancy with my son was pretty uncomfortable. I had pretty intense lower back pain... pretty close to my butt... and that should have been a warning. Then, right after birth, he got very sick. Not long after that, he developed a delightful rash that got infected. Then he couldn't (wouldn't we now know) eat solids. And he puked at every opportunity. I don't mean normal baby spit up. I'm talking full on barf up the entire bottle he'd just drank.
He is special to me specifically because of all that we went through together when he was sick. When you almost loose a child and they make a full recovery, knowing that you walked through the darkness together and made it to the other side creates a bond. One that he hasn't fully recognized yet.
He's our "problem child". I don't mean to be unkind in calling him that but if you knew how EASY of a baby and kid our first child has been you'd understand. And I just don't know what to do with him.
This kid could win a medal for most outrageous temper tantrums. His specialty: public places. We recently went to the county fair and he got so mad that the ride the kids were on was over that he screamed so much he couldn't eat and then when we put him in the stroller because we knew getting him to walk was out of the question, he thrashed and screamed so much that I thought he was going to physically hurt himself. He has climbed up to the top of the McDonald's play place and refused to come down for HOURS. This happened when our youngest was still a baby and I had to plead with him until a kind old lady offered to watch the baby for me while I climbed up into the play place to get him. He was pretty surprised to see my angry face come around the corner. He has stuck cares up into the tail pipes of my car. He has ripped the child safety gates off the wall. He has pushed his sisters down the stairs. He has hit my Dad while we were out to dinner. He has pulled hand fulls of hair out of his older sister's head. He gets angry at the baby when she doesn't want to play with him and more and will pull on her and push her.
He's high maintenance. He's actually really picky about what shoes he wears. He refuses to eat almost anything except lollipops. He won't go to the bathroom with out taking all of his clothes off except his shirt. He's at a height where if he pees, he's too short to get it all into the toilet and if he stands on the stool, he overshoots. The baseboards in our bathroom are constantly yellow. Recently, he's refused to flush the toilet when he poops because "Poop scares the bugs away, Mom." I don't know WHERE he got that one! He insisted the other night that my name was "Alice the Great". If your kids watch Little Bill, you know who I'm talking about. He doesn't play well with other kids and if you touch one of his cars, you better be skilled in martial arts or you're a goner.
He's all boy. He's into cars. He's not afraid to pick up bugs and lizards and frogs. He even likes going to the "boy store" with his Dad (Autozone). He likes it when we drive fast and hates sitting at stop lights. He can't sit still to save his life and gets angry if myself or one of his sisters enters the room while he and Daddy are having a boys night. He only wants the blue plate for his meals.
On the flip side, he can be a total sweet heart. I wasn't feeling well the other day and when I told him this, he stroked my leg and said, "It's ok, Mom. I'll take good care of you." He will tell me that I'm his best friend. Pretty sure he's said that about Sponge Bob too but still... it's nice to hear every once in a while. He'll thank me for making him pancakes. Or try to share his half eaten gumball with me. And he's honest. He doesn't lie to me if he did something wrong and I ask if he was the one that did it. I don't know what to do with him most of the time. Often, I end up crying after he goes to bed or begging my husband to deal with him as soon as he gets home or loosing it all together and flipping out. I'll be checking out a book that several women have suggested to me recently about "the strong willed child".
I don't feel prepared to be the parent of a little boy. At all. Most of the time, I'm at a total loss for how to deal with him or understand him. Something tells me that it wont get any easier either, even when he leaves the "terrible two" stage (he'll be three in two weeks and there's no end in sight). This Wannabe Supermom has met her match. And this battle is a toughie. At least he's cute, right? ;) My bundle of joy.