When we had the ultrasound for Jack in which we discovered he was indeed a he, I'm embarrassed to admit I cried when the ultrasound tech left the room. Bryce and I had always been in agreement that two kids was a really good number for our family, and that if both were boys, or both were girls, that would be fine. But in that moment, I agonized that there would not be any playing princesses, handing down of my American Girl doll to my daughter, or mani/pedi spa days.
Fast forward three years, and I laugh at that person who wanted total control and who (unintentionally) thought that stereotypes had meaning. I've painted fingernails, I've played house, I've watched "My Little Ponies." And I've learned that my boys are my world and that the bond between a mama and her little man is very special.
And while I've uttered the phrase "No More Wrestling!" more times than I want to think about, I absolutely love the stinky, skinny, bruised-up legs, super-hero-noise-making packages that Jack and Cole are.
My boys.
No comments:
Post a Comment