By dvorakoelling on March 14, 2013
I haven’t blogged much since Oren was born. Forgive me. It’s been super challenging to find the time and the space to think, let alone translate my thoughts into cohesive sentences and paragraphs. But I figure I should probably write SOMETHING about my baby boy before he turns sixteen.
It’s no secret. I was pretty nervous when I found out I would be having a son. After all, having grown up in a household with two sisters and NO brothers, my expertise when it comes to boys is pretty darn limited. Even in my vast history of babysitting gigs, I’d only babysat for boys MAYBE twice or three times (which seems very strange, in retrospect, given the amount of babysitting I did).
In preparation for the second kiddo, I gleaned some priceless information from other mamas who’ve had boys. And while I don’t believe in generalizing when it comes to gender, I did hear the same thing from MANY women. First they told me to guard myself when changing my son’s diaper (and yet I didn’t buy the peepee teepee, which would probably have saved me a few wardrobe disasters these past months). Then they told me that boys are MUCH easier to raise – they require a lot of physical energy, sure, but not as much emotional energy as girls do. Thirdly, these mamas told me that boys LOVE their mamas (as opposed to our daughters who just… put up with us?)
Of course, it was silly of me to be nervous. Oren is only three months old, but he’s been a bundle of (albeit, sometimes very cranky) love. Generally speaking, he is a GREAT kid (although right now he seems to be going through some kind of crazy three month old growth spurt that resulted in my being awake since 2:30 this morning. And I was not so pleased when he woke my daughter and husband up with his wails at 4:15 am. And I kind of wanted to run away from home when, having been woken, my daughter demanded breakfast at 5:15 am. And at 7:30 this morning, after three hours of my kids taking turns crying and screaming and acting sleep-deprived and crazy, I considered enlisting them in the army. I’m on my second cup of coffee and my third piece of chocolate, and it’s only 11:00 am).
Though he’s got some strong pipes which he uses to let us know when he’s not happy, Oren causes a lot less drama than Emmy did when she was an infant. He doesn’t cry when we are in the car and I start to slow down at a stop sign, for instance. And he doesn’t scream bloody murder if we put him down for a nap in his crib rather than holding him in our arms the whole time.
He DOES hate having gas. And he has A LOT of gas.
And he hates being left alone in a room. Even for ten seconds. So did Em.
On many an afternoon, I look at my little boy’s face and just wonder about the person he is going to become. Is he going to be an extrovert or an introvert? Is he going to like Math or English better? Is he going to be silly or serious? Is he going to be creative (please, yes)? Is he going to enjoy doing things outdoors, like hiking and camping and stuff? Is he going to have a nice singing voice? Is he going to like telling knock-knock jokes? A few years from now, will he have a collection of toy dinosaurs, like his cousin? Will he be a good swimmer? A hard worker?
Of course, Oren’s little three month old face doesn’t reveal many answers about the future.
But that’s ok. Because all that matters right now is this:
When I smile at him, he smiles back at me. And when he smiles, my heart melts. Even when I’ve only had two hours of sleep.
Parenting with imagination. Or at least trying.
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