Calling All Mama's Boys
Back when I was a single girl in the dating world, referring to a guy as a “Mama’s Boy” was the kiss of death. No girl wants to date one of those, much less marry one. The term just conjures up horrible images of an overbearing mother-in-law who comes over with homemade chicken soup when her baby (your husband...ha!) has the sniffles. And who wants to have your husband/boyfriend side with his mother instead of you, when push comes to shove? Not me, I said. I’m staying away from those Mama’s Boys out there.
And now, since the birth of my perfect baby boy, I could be the President of the local chapter of MRMB (Mamas Raising Mama’s Boys). It’s kind of scary, really. And kind of embarrassing. But seriously, not in a weird inappropriate way, just in a “wow, I feel differently about my boy than I do my girl” kind of way. And don’t worry, I’m not doing anything creepy like nursing him until he’s old enough to ask for it. I’m not that far gone. But I am enjoying this interesting connection that he and I have, and I don’t want it to ever end. I’ll try to explain it as best I can, and maybe some of you can relate.
When I glance over at my boy, and he smiles at me, with his big, dreamy blue eyes, my heart reacts in a way that I never experienced with my girl. Don’t misunderstand - I am fiercely devoted to my girl. We struggled for years to have a child, and when we had her, we thought she was it for us. I love her more than my own life. But it feels more like a steady, deep-rooted, intense kind of protective love.
Then along comes Baby Boy. And when my boy gives me his million-dollar smile, or snuggles into me with his wispy blond curls on my shoulder, the kind of love I experience is best described as a soft & melty, ooey-gooey, scrumptious love. It’s like the good things about him are sooo good, and the bad things are not-so-bad. Like his crying doesn’t seem to bother me as much as my daughter’s did at that same age. Shameful, I know.
I can already see that he will quite possibly get special treatment, when it comes to how/what/when he gets punished for wrongdoings. And I tend to overlook his less than desirable behavior, much more so than I did with Big Sister. Oh, he just knocked over my favorite picture frame, sending it smashing to the ground? Well, he’s all boy, you know! They just can’t help it. What’s that? Baby Boy ruined my nice plant by plucking all the leaves off, even after repeatedly being corrected and redirected? But look at that precious little blond curl on the back of his head! All trespasses are immediately forgiven.
So here I am contributing to the world’s population of MBs, and you know what? I can quit at any time! I sound like a crack addict, I know. But really, I pledge that before I send him out into the world FOR REAL (like to college, or something), I will get this under control and have him all tidied-up, ship-shape, trained like a German Shepherd for his potential wife.
But word to the future DIL - I can’t promise I won’t show up on your doorstep someday with a pot of chicken soup.