My house growing up was an estrogen metropolis. There were three women and my poor dad. The poor guy was so outnumbered I think his testosterone levels had to of been lowered once a month just for survival. He lived through thousands of naked Barbies and baby dolls that needed to be held. Through the teenage years we traveled on the roller coaster of girl hormones and my poor parents just hung on in the back seats for dear life. There was the yelling and temper tantrum throwing. There was the busting out crying for no good reason and the monthly melody of “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go eat worms” followed by door slams. Such is the life with just girls.
You can imagine my surprise when I went for my first ultrasound and low and behold there was a little extra appendage. I was having a boy. I had no idea how to raise a boy. I hadn’t prepared for a boy. I had spent the first three months of my pregnancy looking at little pink dresses because we all know how well that assume thing works out. But here it was – a little HE was coming into my world. I immediately started to change plans. I changed the nursery idea from Nursery Rhymes to John Deere. I had John Deere before John Deere was cool. I had to order the material from their corporate and have the entire ensemble made, but it was the first so damn the torpedo’s and the cost. I started looking at little boy cloths and picking out the cutest ones with baseballs, footballs, and in general sports themes galore. By the time he came into the world everything was prepared, but me.
This little appendage came with lots of rules I didn’t know. They come in at the hospital and tell you they have to cut on it which is incredibly scary for a new mama. When you get them home you have to keep it really clean and sanitary. You learn that little appendage even as an infant can stand straight up. After you get pee in your eye once you learn real quick what that standing up means and that the diaper needs to be put on the front first. Forget everything you ever learned about changing a diaper- trust me- the front goes down first!
As they grow this appendage starts to take on a life of it’s on. When you go in to wake up your toddler- there it is – standing at attention, It still means the same thing, but it still takes you off guard at first. They also learn where it is and how to manipulate it themselves. I learned this lesson the hard way. As I was sitting on my bed one morning talking on the phone this cute little toddler boy creature I had made walks into my room. He has somehow gone from feety pajama’s to butt ass naked in approximately a minute. He is standing there in all his glory. He is grinning bigger than a Cheshire Cat. His hands are on his hips and his chest is stuck out like he has conquered the world. He looks up at me and says “Look mama – made big pee-pee – and hung my pacey on it” There it was- a pacifier hanging by the handle off his appendage. As I sat there stunned and not exactly knowing how to deal with this new experience I decided my best option was to call the hubby to find out if this was normal. I assumed it was when his answer was “That’s my boy”
Now that boy is a teenager that extra appendage officially scares me to death!!
I seem to be a little odd in the things that scare me as a mama. Most people seem to be petrified of their daughters during these years and have the idea that boys are easy. I am the exact opposite. I hope they are brilliant and don’t do anything dumb, but since I know there are probably no Nobel Prize winners coming from my loins – I have been saying “please be smart and cover your soldier” since I was quickly laying that diaper down on top of it before it pee’d on me. Here’s always been my thinking: If my teenage estrogen queen gets herself in trouble I have some say so and control. If God forbid something does happen I will be involved in the decisions and the future. If my teenage testosterone kings get someone else in trouble my boys nor I have any say so in the decision or future what so ever.
Now you may think this makes me a control freak and maybe it does, but it scares me more than the monkey bats from the Wizard of Oz. Oh- and at 45 I am still petrified of the monkey bats. When I have these horrifying thoughts I start to hear the monkey bats music and start to hyperventilate. I try to talk to them often about smart decisions and dumb decisions and how to protect themselves etc etc etc. Some days I feel like all I do is talk about teenage decisions until I’m blue in the face. I give them a situation and ask how they would handle. I give them an example and ask if it was a smart decision or not. I ask them for examples of things they’ve heard at school that were dumb decisions and how they would of handled them differently. I talk, threaten, and plead and hope they listen at least a little and then I pray pray pray and hope they and I survive the roller coaster of the teenage hormone years because I’m just holding on in the back seat and getting ready for the ride.
I’m praying for the Nobel prize winners, but until then my newest threat for my testosterone kings is one of my favorites. Sometimes fear can be a powerful motivator and I need them motivated to over rule their hormones during those special moments!!! “Boys ya know I’ve always said that orange isn’t in my color wheel, but the quickest way to see mama wearing an attractive orange jumper and to only visit me on Sundays is to it let some crazier women than me be raising my grand baby. Oh and FYI- If you think I’m crazy now – you won’t of seen nothin yet!” Since they already seem a little scared of me when I go crazy- let’s just let em think on that….