MY dear baby boys,
I don’t think I need to tell you how much I love you, how much you were wanted.
Hell, I say it almost every day, while I put tiny kisses on your sweet smelling heads.
I can’t tell you how happy I was during our ultrasound to determine your gender to hear the words:
*well you have 2/5 of a basketball team*
and while I don’t particularly go for basketball, I knew those words meant one thing
*well ok I assumed*
My heart literally skipped a beat. I was so happy.
I was so much better with boys.
Plus, don’t boys always love their moms?
Never leave them?
Stay loyal to their first “girl“?
I was under a haze of love for both of you when you were only 20 week olds in utero.
Of course, there were those momentary regrets.
Longings is probably a better word.
I lamented the dresses & bonnets I would never buy
The ballet recitals we would likely never attend to watch YOU dance.
I had wanted children who would love Broadway musicals as much as I do
( I’m still crossing my fingers on that one, I won’t lie)
and be able to find Bradley Cooper as handsome & sexy as I do.
However, there was a sigh of relief at the thoughts of having NO DRAMA.
I had silly fantasties that having boys meant that I would be the only
DRAMA QUEEN in our home
(because seriously; how many does one home really need? )
So I while I sat on bedrest, cooking both of you in my tummy, my worries DID not include
things like whining, theatrics and mood swings that would spin my head around.
Now, I have been dutiful. I have read articles, I have done research.
I have started to count to 10 when I hear the low squeal that means a scream is coming.
I’ve accepted the fact that you are TODDLERS.
Well Preschoolers now.
I have made myself understand that I “don’t know everything”
But my beautiful sons, WE NEED TO TALK.
Because you two are getting out of hand.
I wake up every morning with hopes of “today being different”
and then I am seized with whining that rivals that of Lindsey Lohan on a bender.
Getting dressed is like negotiating a peace summit and since you don’t wear dresses and the like
you’d think that it would be easy to put jeans, undershirt , socks and shirts on.
I had no idea that the color of your socks would mean so much to you.
I apologize for my lack of sensitivity to this.
However, I cannot anticipate your needs if they change from one moment to the next.
While you might think I might be, I am not ALL KNOWING.
I wish for that, but alas, nothing yet.
I think that I can also safely say that maybe , and you can correct me if I’m wrong,
but you, my friends, have PMS
I know PMS and you show all the classic signs.
Quiet sobbing, eating of chocolate for dinner, feeling more at home in your PJ Nuggets than clothes, and your feelings about Dora, your brother,
or who gets to open the garage door turning on a frickin dime.
I was not expecting this.
I thought boys would get dirty, smell funny & leave food under their beds.
I was ready for those things armed with laundry detergent and lavendar baby lotion.
I have no idea how to deal with your PMS,
your constant whining and your arguments about what color your chocolate milk really is.
You are irrational and that’s saying something when you understand who your mommy is.
I am asking for a reprieve, waving a white flag, hoping for a truce.
I am the GIRL in this house, and until you can prove otherwise (preferably with charts, graphs and video) I have dibs on the anatomy.
Love your Mommy