Being the Mom of a Boy

Being the mom of a boy—

There's a spirit that's different from gals.

A boy specializes in sound effects,

Dive-bombs, and dirtying towels.

He’s cuddly and very persuasive;

He'll charm Mama's heart in a blink.

And when he is quiet for too long,

He may have done more than you think.

He likes to do little experiments,

Which often involve a slight mess;

And things that he loves tend to wiggle

Or have scales, tongues, or claws that impress.

The harder you work to contain him,

The more he’ll bust out of the box.

You catch him free-jumping from tables

And running about with no socks.

Being the mom of a boy

Means giving up delicate ways.

It means a collection of rocks—

Blanket forts that turn into a maze.

It's finding a snake in a quart jar;

An arsenal made out of twigs;

A love of all things fat and furry;

Random radio songs sparking jigs.

It's a hot dog found moving the dresser

That's stiff ‘cause it's been there a while—

And a hundred small things out of place

That (looking back) make you smile.

It’s pursuit of the wide open nature

To see what survives his rambunction

And taking apart mechanisms

To find out just what makes them function.

Being the mom of a boy

Means remembering dangerous stunts

And shaking your head in disbelief

That he tried ‘em more than once.

It's caring, protecting, and trying

To stay more than one step ahead,

Yet knowing that each day it's vital

To place him in God's hands instead.

It's sav’ring the hugs and the thank-you's

That say "I ‘m glad you're my mama"

And attending his sporting events—

A competitive brand of drama.

Recalling the bedtime stories

You came up with on the spot—

And all the times you consoled him

Through the sicknesses he caught.

Being the mom of a boy

Means capturing each memory you can

Because one day you'll turn, and quite suddenly

Your little boy now is a man.