Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Thank Heaven for Little Boys

When I was pregnant for the third time, I could guarantee how most conversations with strangers would go. 

Stranger:  Do you know what you're having?
Me:  No.  We let it be a surprise.
Stranger:  Oh, that's great.  That's how it should be. 
(Then I would wait, knowing exactly what was coming)
Stranger:  Well, are you hoping for a girl?

And my answer was always the same: "No."  Which would be followed by a shocked look from the perfect stranger, because obviously, after two boys, I should be begging for girls.  Even people I knew were always bugging me about having a little girl, and more than one person couldn't understand my desire to have another little blue bundle of joy.  Needless to say, when Canaan arrived, I was the first one to anxiously check and then happily announce, "It's another boy!"  We disappointed a lot of people, but not ourselves with his arrival. 

Not that I don't like girls, or that I think girls are bad, or that I would have been mad at having a girl.  We would have been pleased with a little girl.  I babysat a little girl for five years, so I understand the joy (and drama) that a little girl can bring. 

But there's just something about little boys--dirt-stained, creature-loving, rough and tumble, ants-in-their-pants, dancing-around-naked, going-potty-outside, scraped-knee, loud, obnoxious boys.   Even though they like bugs and frogs; even though they are fearless dare-devils; even though they can get dirty even in a bath tub, and make everything into weapons, and eat everything I have in the house, and try to drink out of the toilet, there is something wonderful about them.  They love to explore the world and experience new things and they always get their hands (and feet and faces) dirty in the process.  They are more often than not human tornadoes that destroy everything in their path.  They love to pretend to be cowboys and superheroes and knights and other brave and valiant men.  They follow their daddy to the barn and the garage and under the car and probably to the end of the earth if he asked them.  They like to get out all of their toys, spread them across the house, and then five minutes later ask to do something else.  They are hurricanes dressed in capes and cowboy boots.  They are creative, inspiring, messy, adorable, active, messy, hungry, ornery, infuriating, messy, non-stop, wonderful, messy boys.  But the thing I love most about them is underneath that rough and tough exterior is a soft, tender heart that loves their mommy.  Because if my boys finally hold still, it's probably because they wanted to come give me a kiss, or a hug, or tell me they love me.  Because at night when Gideon lets me hold him and says, "Sing to me, Momma," it cancels out all the times he makes me want to pull my hair out.  Because no matter how much of a mess they've made, when they look up at you with those twinkling eyes and smile that toothy grin, you can't help but laugh even if you want to cry.  These are the joys of having little boys.

Maybe one day God will bless us with a sweet little girl, but if He doesn't, I won't mind.  Because even though I can't braid their hair, or sew them dresses, I have three little creatures called boys, and they are everything I need.

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