Parenting boys, it really would have been easier to get a dog….
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When I found out I was having a boy, I’m ashamed to say I had a little cry. I’d wanted another girl. I am ridiculously close to my marvellous sister and I had beautiful Bronte dreams of my lovely daughters enjoying this closeness. Younger brothers are generally irritating and I’d heard enough friends with boys telling me they had to be walked like dogs in order to wear them out. I’d tried to avoid owning a cagoul, and my national trust membership was generally reserved for the cream tea, so this really didn’t fit well with my parenting
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dreams.
In reality boys really are like spaniels on drugs till they are about 10, then they grow up, wank and grunt their way through adolescence and just when you’re starting to get on with them again in their twenties, they get married and their wife hates you. And they won’t remember your birthday. It was looking bleak. I sat in the car clutching my little maternity folder, tears in my eyes, while Mr Mess Stress and Fancy Dress assured me that boys aren’t all bad, after all he’s one and I rather like him.
So the hulk turned up and lo and
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behold he was a delightful baby. Much less grumpy than his sister had been. I wondered if I’d got it all wrong. Then he started moving. Then he started climbing. Then he started running. Suddenly I find myself parenting some horrendous love child of Spider-Man, Forest Gump and a lemming, but with less fear.
My responsibilities as his mother seem to just extend to keeping him alive. With the diva, I have much to teach her. We dance and sing, we colour, we cook, we write, we learn. With the hulk, I run round frantically while he throws himself off
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stuff and eats mud.
On the day he nearly got out the first floor window, I started to wonder how it is that there are any full grown men in the world? I’m frankly astonished they survive their childhood. I’m not entirely convinced that either me or the hulk will survive his. My grip on my sanity is certainly looser than it once was, I’m a borderline alcoholic, I live on my nerves, I spend all my spare time socialising with climbing frames ………..and I’ve bought a cagoul.
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Mess, Stress and Fancy Dress - 9 Oct 15
When I found out I was having a boy, I’m ashamed to say I had a little cry. I’d wanted another girl. I am ridiculously close to my marvellous sister and I had beautiful Bronte dreams of my lovely daughters enjoying this closeness. Younger brothers are generally irritating and I’d heard enough friends with boys telling me they had to be walked like dogs in order to wear them out. I’d tried to avoid owning a cagoul, and my national trust membership was generally reserved for the cream tea, so this really didn’t fit well with my parenting dreams.
In reality boys really are like spaniels on drugs till they are about 10, then they grow up, wank and grunt their way through adolescence and just when you’re starting to get on with them again in their twenties, they get married and their wife hates you. And they won’t remember your birthday. It was looking bleak. I sat in the car clutching my little maternity folder, tears in my eyes, while Mr Mess Stress and Fancy Dress assured me that boys aren’t all bad, after all he’s one and I rather like him.
So the hulk turned up and lo and behold he was a delightful baby. Much less grumpy than his sister had been. I wondered if I’d got it all wrong. Then he started moving. Then he started climbing. Then he started running. Suddenly I find myself parenting some horrendous love child of Spider-Man, Forest Gump and a lemming, but with less fear.
My responsibilities as his mother seem to just extend to keeping him alive. With the diva, I have much to teach her. We dance and sing, we colour, we cook, we write, we learn. With the hulk, I run round frantically while he throws himself off stuff and eats mud.
On the day he nearly got out the first floor window, I started to wonder how it is that there are any full grown men in the world? I’m frankly astonished they survive their childhood. I’m not entirely convinced that either me or the hulk will survive his. My grip on my sanity is certainly looser than it once was, I’m a borderline alcoholic, I live on my nerves, I spend all my spare time socialising with climbing frames ………..and I’ve bought a cagoul.
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Shameless galloping pushchair wheelie expert, blogs about poos in swimming pools, the daily toddler hat battle & her love affair with cider and swiss roll. Do come on over and see the Mess Stress and Fancy Dress facebook page for more silliness.
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