Boy Town

Every person who finds out I’m pregnant inevitably says, “I hope it’s a girl!” or some variation thereof.

 

My life is increasingly boy-centered these days.  Sure, I know that little girls think that poop is funny, and I know that little girls are active and energetic.  But if you have two little girls, I guarantee that your life is different than mine with two little boys.  Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, is physical.  Whether jockeying for position while I’m reading a story or merely getting into the car to go to school, every action is taken to an extreme and turned into some sort of American Gladiators-style challenge.  There are no calm activities, is what I’m saying, and I know that little girls calm down at least some of the time. 

 

And it’s not just that poop jokes are funny.  They are the ONLY GREAT JOKE.  My boys wanted to call their Grandpa Roger yesterday evening, so I dialed him up and put the call on speaker.  “Hi, Grandpa Poopy-poop!” Charles shouted.  “Hi, Buppa Poophead!” Jamie shouted.  “Do you want some pepperoni poop?” Charles shouted again, while pushing his brother out of the way to get closer to the phone.  Jamie then fell on the floor, got mad, and pushed Charles off of the couch.  It was so loud that my dad could probably hear nothing but the screeching and yelling of little kids and the occasional “POOP!” shrieked by one of the boys.  Because that’s the other thing: the boys are NEVER quiet.  Even when they sleep, they talk in their sleep and snore and fart.

 

Farts are almost as funny as poop.  The other day, Charles was downstairs and called up to me with barely contained excitement, “Mommy!  Mommy!  I farted and it sounded like an airplane engine!”  I think it might have been the best moment of his life.  Except, maybe, for the day he had “the longest poop.”  That was a pretty great day, too.

 

Boys are dirty and smelly and often need bathing.  All boys are like that, but two boys, without the bossiness of a sister to make them play house or watch princess movies and keep the sweat down, are worse.  I’m convinced.  Because they need more bathing, I need more bathing.  I can put on a clean shirt in the morning and need to change within an hour of picking up the boys.  I instantly collect snot, silly putty, playdough, spit, crayon, and peanut butter all over my sweater and pants.  Don’t even look at their clothing – I’m lucky if their shirts are the same color at the end of the day as at the beginning.  And while girls want to be pretty and have their hair done, boys want racing stripes cut into their hair.  Charles now has zig-zags on either side of his head.

 

I would love to have a girl.  I would love the opportunity to buy clothing with flowers on it.  I love the idea that, with a daughter, I might someday take her on pedicure trips and fancy-dress shopping and teach her the makeup tips I never learned as a teenager (and wish I had).  But mostly, I just want a healthy baby.  And if we have another boy, well, I already know all the best poop jokes around.  I’ll have lots of practice mothering boys for number 3.  And he’ll come into this world with ready-made wrestling partners.

 

Still, I’m sure I’ll mourn the loss of the baby girl I’ll never have, even as I’m celebrating having a new boy.  Much to everyone’s delight, especially my mother’s, we will be finding out the sex of the baby at the big ultrasound, unlike with our other two pregnancies.  We’d like to prepare the boys, and if it is a girl, I’d like to shop girl stuff ahead of time.

 

There’s no need to pray for a girl for us.  Just pray for a healthy baby and a healthy mom. 

 

Almost 14 weeks.  I’m compensating for not taking enough pregnancy photos during the last two by taking MANY this time around.