Raising my Boy

As a mom to a two year old toddler, I always seem to find myself complaining to my girlfriends about how rough and tough my son is. Brennan is always running, jumping and throwing things. He runs when he gets outside as though we have “freed” him from the plantation of parenthood. He jumps off the bed, the chair, the stairs and anything that he can think of. He is a major league pitcher in training. It’s funny how he hated T-ball practice and sat on the sidelines the entire hour during practice, but when it comes to throwing a tantrum or toys at the dog, he has perfect aim.

I always wanted a son. I wanted a son from the minute I got pregnant. I knew he was boy when he was just a teeny embryo in my womb. I told my husband, “Look at our son. Isn’t he magnificent?” He told me I was crazy. He believed we were having a girl. I knew it was a boy so I talked to him all the time like he was a boy. I would rub my stomach and tell him that he has to watch himself, because girls today have changed. There are too many “fast girls” out there. We read Us Magazine together. Well, I would read it out load to him and he would listen intently in my stomach of course.

Never did I imagine that my son would be born with no fear of jumping head first into any situation. I watch him, trying to understand what he is thinking when he piles the pillows and toys on top of the dining room chair and proceeds to jump off like Superman. Does he really think he can fly? What’s he doing? Why is he doing that? That’s just how boys are is what all my friends say. I do know that I’m not alone and that other parents have said boys are handful in the beginning, but they calm down as they get older. Girls are calm in the beginning but a handful when they become older. I don’t regret my boy. I know that Brennan will jump without fear because he knows that he will always be safe. We will always pick him up, wipe his tears and clean his wounds, just so he can jump head first into something else.

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