I’m one. Are you?
I got a care package in the mail Saturday. In it, to my delight, was this awesome T by boymom designs. It’s black, and fitted (and LONG, woohoo!) and I love it, ’cause it’s what I AM!
The tag reads:
Girly girl marries
They begat two boys.
Now she’s a
Her pink tutu was traded
in for a green
If you’ve got boys,
then you know.
You’re a boymom!
That pretty much sums it up.
Thinking about it has brought to mind all the things that I say or do that I NEVER imagined when I was a little girl playing house with my Barbies. Things like:
“Sweetie, most cowboys sleep with their guns under their pillow, not in their pocket. It’s more comfortable.”
“No, we can’t bring the light saber into church. It has to stay in the car.”
“Yes, your drawing of the dragon drowning in oil and the electrocuted robot and the dungeon full of prisoners is totally cool!”
I also never imagined reaching into my purse and pulling out an array of matchbox cars, a plastic octopus, and a miniature surfboard. I didn’t expect to be admiring fantastic and amazing LEGO creations on a daily basis, or be asked (and expected to be able) to draw a basilisk, a Hungarian Horntail, or a castle under siege at a moment’s notice. I didn’t expect to live in daily fear of broken arms, black eyes, and bloody noses. Or have my daffodils run down by an escaping wagon. Or boys in my apple trees. I didn’t expect to have dinner-table discussions about bodily gasses and boogers, either.
boymom gets it. If you’re a mom of boys, then you know.
Are YOU a boymom?
(I don’t make this stuff up. Pretty much all of the above summarizes JUST ONE DAY in the life of a boymom. Really.)