My family tree would be pink if it were drawn in color, with very few blue leaves representing the handful of men that have married-in. What can I say? Girl power! So once I found out I was pregnant, all I wanted was a boy. And when my dream came true, it was as if some sort of ancient estrogen riddled curse had been lifted TIME OUT…Deep down all parents know health supersedes gender and that a baby in itself is a miracle that we are unworthy of receiving. And since being shot with the most potent and pure form of love known to man (offspring), I realize having a girl would’ve been just as perfect. Now rewind back almost two years ago: I really, really wanted a boy.
Being 1 of 5 daughters, I was as close to a son as my parents were gonna get. Shortest possible hair, handball playing, lizard catching, and absolutely no dresses, no dolls, and no Polly freaking Pockets allowed. Being friends with me meant prank calling Jenny Craig from a payphone at the park after tree climbing. When my mom struggled with my mismatched clothes or my black handball hands, she would tell me, “When you have kids, you’re going to have a bunch of FILTHY BOYS!” “I’m not having kids,” I’d say, while secretly thinking “how exciting!” I hoped she was right. I mean, aren’t they [moms] always? (Yes they are- trust me, I’m a mom.)
And she was. Just look at me now! Dylan is the ultimate boy, constantly feeding into little boy stereotypes. Wheels? Obsessed. Hey, cars have wheels! Obsessed. Outdoors? Obsessed. Danger? No fear. Hazard? You mean a challenge. Mess? You mean fun! I often find myself observing Dylan as he produces deafening noises over and over and over and over, clinking pots and pans together, or as he wanders off with no intention to turn back and zero concern for the growing distance, and I think, “well you wanted a boy, didn’t you?” And then I laugh at myself.
Yesterday I screamed when I noticed he was chasing a fat black spider. And before that I screamed because Dylan had climbed to the top of his slide, stood up, put his hands in the air and yelled “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” He predictably lost his balance and fell to the ground. I squinted in fear for his reaction only for him to pick himself up and repeat, unscathed, untraumatized, unabashed. A few minutes later he couldn’t shake a dragging blanket caught on his foot, prompting piercing shrieks of frustration; crocodile tears and all!
I laughed. Body slamming three feet off the ground? No problem. Being slowed down by a blanket for three seconds? Full on BREAKDOWN. Oh- I got a boy alright.