Boy Mom

When I was 15 weeks pregnant I had lunch with a dear friend who was thrilled to learn of my happy news. Even better, she said, that I was having a bouncing baby boy, because, in her opinion, I would be “a really good boy mom.” Hmm, I thought. “Thanks,” I said aloud. What is a boy mom, I wondered? And what makes a “really good” one?


Could it be that she meant I will be fun for the boy, because I’m so loud and silly, and, because I’m artistic, the boy will be sure to enjoy much make believe and self-expression in our home, and my emotional maturity would definitely rub off on the kid?

Let me just pat myself on the back real qui………oh.

It’s because I’m disgusting.

Oh, that’s totally what she meant. I am such a girl because I love bright pink and Beyoncé, but I’m messy, I’m dirty, I’m frizzy, and I don’t really care; I go to the grocery store in running shoes and a greasy bun, and I buy Funyuns and a Coke to snack on while I shop for beef jerky and chips ‘n dip. One time, I fished a spoon out of the dirty dish pile soaking in the sink and used it for my yogurt. If I’ve spilled my Skittles, I’ll eat them off the carpet/grass/sidewalk/asphalt/garbage pail because dirt don’t hurt. I’m gross, I guess.

Whatever, Skittles rock, and so what if they fall on the ground? But that irreverence of mine is so completely what she meant.


So, a boy mom is a mom (i.e. rockstar) who mothers a boy. Simple enough (haha, not). I fall into that category for sure. But, a really good boy mom like me has no discretion nor inclination to impress and so disturbs the normal, decent human beings in her vicinity with farts and candor. A really good boy mom like me will, say, grow a baby boy in her body and one day during that blissful pregnant period, after not showering for a week, exclaim to her (my) significant other that her (my) pits are starting to smell less like her (my) regular hearty musk and more like some dude’s dirty spunk. And then that really good boy mom will make that wonderful significant other smell those awesome pits.


I don’t think my dear, sweet friend would qualify what she meant in so many words. She’d probably say she meant laid back, not overly girly, kinda don’t care about hygiene so much so will jump in puddles, etc, but those are kind ways to say “you’re disgusting.” And she was totally right.

That’s fine. Life is messy; so am I… and I hear motherhood is messy, too. Plus, boys love to be disgusting. A really good boy mom like me is good at disgusting in many ways. (And fort building, and silly face making, and wrestling, etc. etc.). Maybe, then, I am as exactly cut out for this boy mom gig as anyone can get. Thus begins my journey into motherhood. I’m here for it, guys.



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