I’m a proud #boymom. My three boys are my world. From clothes to shoes to toys, our house is all BOY. And I wouldn’t change it for anything. Sure, before children, I imagined raising a daughter. One with curly hair. Someone I could share all my hard-learned girl truths with. I defy any woman who denies feeling the same. But now, I couldn’t imagine life without these boys. And they couldn’t either. They wouldn’t know what to do with a sister.
“Our house would be infused with PINK!” once was said — the P word sneering from his mouth.
And this doesn’t include cleats. There’s a separate bin for that.
When Christmas commercials are in season, we tease about getting My Little Pony and Twinkle Toes and LaLaLoopsy for each other. Even I’m guilty of that.
But pink has always been my favorite color.
Yesterday, our middle asked, “Who are you voting for for President?”
“But we can’t have a GIRL president!”
“She’ll make us wear girly clothes and play with Barbies!”
“No she wouldn’t. Why would you say that?”
“Because she makes all the rules and all the laws.”
“Well, did President Obama make me wear a suit and tie and play with trucks?”
We all laughed, but my words felt a bit hollow. The reverse isn’t the same. I’m in a boy world. They’ve seen me play with plenty of toy trucks. I may not wear a suit and tie but I assure you I’m not in a dress every day, either. Come to think of it, it’s all a boy’s world. Historically, we girls have had to fight for equal rights and equal pay and equal opportunity. And “pink” isn’t the problem.
When my husband gets into one of his teasing jags, my standard comeback is: “You needed a little sister growing up to get all this out of your system.”
Growing up with three brothers, my husband has the boy thing down. He’s like the boy whisperer — able to get to the root of a rotten day or hurt feelings or big-world worries. However, judging from how protective he is of me, a little girl may have given him a run for his money.
My brother and I grew up sharing each other’s perspective. Throughout the confusing puberty years, I know we helped each other quite a bit. When a girl didn’t reciprocate his crush, I think I was able to make it a little better. When a boy on the bus stuck his fingers up my nose, it was my brother who explained that he actually liked me. (Not a good strategy, BTW). We’ve always been able to talk about things we’d never discuss with our parents. Maybe this is why he is now keenly sensitive about girl stuff. He can discuss menstrual cramps or bra-fitting issues with the objectivity of a registered nurse. And he actually looks really good in pink. Oh, excuse me — salmon.
I know firsthand sisters can teach brothers stuff moms can’t. Yikes.
My boys need more GIRL in their lives!
I pledge right now to communicate with my boys — about everything. As uncomfortable it may be, I will tell them what boobs are really for, what a thing called a tampon is, and why girls might send cryptic messages through their girlfriends like modern-day carrier pigeons. And goldarnit, they will feel okay with all of it.
If it comes to be, they will feel okay with a woman president.
No, my boys won’t have a sister. It’s a little late in the game to try again.
But I will vote for Hillary.