Dare I Admit?

As The Husband can heartily attest to, I am rarely ever "wrong." And I approach admitting being wrong with extreme trepidation. (for obvious reasons... the least of which being I am always right)

However, I must acquiesce: I was wrong about boys.

I freaked out for six seemingly endless months when pregnant with Little Man. I couldn't see myself loving... or even liking having a little boy bounding around the house. Sure, I wasn't proud of it. I was however, sufficiently freaked out to voice my borderline psychotic fears about the male kind all over this blog. (if you ever read this, little guy, skip that part entirely) I could in no way imagine how it would be possible to love another baby more than my darling girls. Much less a... boy.

Granted, I vaguely remember feeling somewhat the same way when pregnant with the twins. I was overwhelmed about the prospect of caring for two infants. The workload seemed daunting, and I could not imagine how I could do it. (The answer, you love them too much not to do it) It boiled down to my basic self realization that I'm just not a "kid" person. So I couldn't imagine being so uproariously enamored with kids of my own. Not like those other hypersugary parents who simply RAVE ON AND ON about their kids. (which, duh. I totally do... now) I guess it boils down to the fact that I'm not a huge fan of other people's kids. (sorry, other people) Other people's kids aren't as super special sparkly as my own. Until you have one of your own, you just don't get it.

Even then! When faced with having another I flipped the trigger back up to meltdown. Especially after finding out it would be a... a... boy! I saw visions of holy terrors assailing around my living room, knocking over (nonexistent) vases with a slight rancorous grin. Ugh! Boys! Their fondness for fart jokes! Their smelly socks! Pulling on innocent girls' pig tails! Yuck, yuck, and double yuck.

Delightfully, MY BOY is nothing like the little demons who have cooties, eat dirt, and smash everything to bits. I don't know where I picked up this view... probably from my own experiences with our male classmates at elementary school.

But no, no! MY LITTLE MAN is a bundle of giggles, a spark of whimsy, and a heapload of fun! I've even embraced the challenge of hunting for semi-decent boy clothes! (a sport at which I have become quite deft)

I want to be around his warm, bubbly cuteness all the time! (Well, most of the time! When it's more cuteness and less screamy-ness) I cannot resist to nosh on his cheeks, whether I feel peckish or not.

Man, I was so so so so wrong! Little boys are the bees knees! (at least mine is!)