Today’s guest post is by Alison who is an Australian freelance writer who also writes at Life in a Pink Fibro, is mum to two and dreams of being a novelist.
When I gave birth to my second son, I inevitably got the ‘so you’ll be going again then’ statement. Going again? Why in the name of God would I do that? ‘You’ll want a girl.’ Never a question, always a statement.
And my response? Always the same. ‘I like boys. I’m happy.’
And I am. I have a home full of cars and tractors, building tools and Bakugan, Lego and… er, Lego (does the stuff breed while I’m not watching?). We watch the rugby league on Friday nights and go to soccer on Saturday mornings. We have outings to air museums, fire engine museums, building museums and dinosaur museums. We ride our bikes and kick a ball and take our scooters to the skate park.
Do I miss the ‘pink’ stuff? I don’t think so. I can’t be 100 per cent certain because I’ve never had it. But I’m not a particularly girly girl – my shopping trips are quick, my make-up is nonexistent most days basic – so I can’t say I miss having to wrangle a little girl’s hair every morning, nor do I have to cope with the explosion of pink that seems to erupt in little girls’ bedrooms.
But there is one thing I will never get about my house of boys. The wrestling. When my husband comes home in the afternoon, the living room is immediately transformed in a World Series Wrestling ring, complete with small thunderbolts leaping from the sofa, rolling on the mat and accompanying shouts of ‘hi-YAH!’. They all seem to love it. I watch on in amazement, or leave the room to read a book until it’s over.
I remember reading a description in a book once, long before I had my family, that really resonated with me. It basically described a woman as having the kind of calm that only came with being a mother of five boys. I don’t have five, but I’m beginning to understand the development of that calm.
You learn early with boys not to over-react to every scrape and bump – there will be many more. You learn to find your happy place in a room that vibrates with energy and noise and levitating children. You realise that working in open-plan offices was merely excellent training for being able to concentrate and focus on day-to-day tasks when your boys have their friends over.
And you learn to soak up, with every fibre of your being, those random moments when they sit still long enough to hold you tight and plant sloppy, little boy kisses on you.
Do you have boys or girls, or both? Do you ever wish things were different?