My middle son who is seven just broke his arm at the park. This is his third broken bone. (Technically 4th since he broke both bones in his arm this time…) Last month, my three year old got bit in the face by a dog and had 15 stitches. It’s been quite a summer of accidents for the boys in our family and extended family. (Cracked skull and broken shoulder, to name a few.) When my mom stopped by to visit my little guy with the broken arm, she looked at me and asked if it even affects me anymore. How do I stay calm? Do I just go numb, or….? I could see her head spinning as she watched how I calm and collectively dealt with yet another broken bone. I kind of giggled. I realized that I have truly adapted to being a mom of boys.
Let me back up to the arm breaking scenario.
Picture this…my friend comes to visit and we take the kids to Lincoln Park. After about 5 minutes of being there, our conversation was interrupted by kids hollering to us that my three year old was pooping on the playground. Insert all the embarrassment emojis. I run over to see his pants pulled down and getting ready to do business. Luckily, all the hollering gave him enough stage fright for me to get him before anything “happened”. I give him the tiniest swat on his cute little butt as I remind him that we only poop in the bathroom. Ass (Spelling error turned pun) I turn around, I hear a THUD right behind me, followed by crying. Aw man. My seven year old usually can brush things off, but this time, I noticed his cry was different. As he held his arm to keep it from moving, we walked back over to where my friend and I were sitting. I hold him close into my ribs and tears run down his cheeks. It only took a few minutes to realized that this most likely was a broken bone.
I called the doctors and they had an opening in an hour. I called my husband to meet me at the park. I loved on my son and kept chatting with my friend as the other kids continued to play.
At the time of our appointment, we walk into the doctors office. They know us here. We are sent down to get an X-Ray. The X-Ray technician shows us the picture and informs us “I can’t tell you what I see, but make sure you keep his arm flat”. Oh brother.
We left the office, two more broken bones under our belts.
It wasn’t until the conversation with my mom that I realized that I went through it all without being phased. I am a mom of boys!
I also realized that I had to say out loud, “We don’t poop on the playground.”
Being a mom of boys means that my house does not stay clean, there are often muddy footprints on the toilet seat (don’t ask), my Costco trips are frequent and nearly break the bank, my walls have dents from toy cars and soccer balls, and I could keep Dawn Soap in business from all the sticky fingers around here.
What I didn’t expect about having all boys was how much I would learn to love and embrace the noise and chaos. How loud I would have to yell in order for them to hear me over their ruckus. How much I would have to learn about motorcycles and trucks because 90% of conversations revolve around them. But most surprisingly, was how much they would love me. How they forgive me so quickly for my shortcomings. How they hold my hand without embarrassment.
The accidents, bone breaks and stitches are a part of my life now. We have already had quite a few, and I know they will continue to happen. Because boys will be boys. But I wouldn’t trade being a mom of boys for anything.