The joys of living with boys

Sometimes I still can’t believe that I live in a house of all boys.  Growing up with a sister, a stay-at-home-mom and a dad who worked long hours, I wasn’t really prepared for living amongst all this maleness.

First, there’s the potty talk.  Why is it that boys find anything that has to do with bodily functions totally hilarious?  Sometimes, my older son will have a whole conversation using only bathroom-related words.  If he is in a bad mood, all I have to say is “toot” and he’s howling.  If we want him to smile for a photo, we just need to say “poop” or make a fart sound and he’s good go… a totally natural smile.  It all starts so young, too.  The baby let out a giant belch the other day.  Then, he looked up at me and burst out laughing, like it was the funniest sound he’d ever heard.

Then, there’s their junk.  Boys appear to born knowing where their man parts are and they take any and every opportunity to touch them.  The moment the diaper comes off, my ten-month-old reaches down for a quick grab.  In the bath, my older son is fascinated by his package.  I try not to say anything and let them explore without making it a thing, but why?  Why the fascination?  Why?

Of course, we can’t forget the stink.  I can only imagine (with terror) what my house will smell like in a few more years.  Right now, I’m only dealing with one man, one kid and a baby, but already, they’re stinking me out!  Smelly little bums.  Foul smelling bathrooms.  And how, just how, does my sweet little baby manage to have man farts?

The girly girl in me is slowly disappearing as I learn to navigate toilet seats that have been left up and pee that’s just missed its mark.  My tolerance for odour is getting much higher (there’s nothing like wiping someone’s butt while pregnant to test your ability to keep down your lunch!)

Despite the grossness that lives in my house, I wouldn’t trade away my boys.  At the end of day, there is nothing better than burying my face into my sweet baby’s neck or having my older son climb into my lap for a bedtime story or collapsing on the couch with my husband to watch some tv.  I may be the lone lady in this house of hooligans, but I love them.  If anyone wants to lend me their daughter, though, I’d be cool with that.  Seriously.

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