You know what life with boys is? A contact sport. At only one and three, you might think I was going say something cutesy and adorable about how sweet it is, about mama’s boys who pick me flowers and whispering little ‘I love yous’ with their perfect, tiny adorable voices into my ear, who gently pet my face as they fall sleep.
BUT NO. You’d be wrong.
Life with boys is being the opposing quarterback in an aggressive pee-wee flag football game where nobody knows you’re not supposed to tackle. AND nobody cares if the ref blows the whistle; if anything, they ‘play’ to hear that fucking whistle (Also known as Mom screaming, grunting, whimpering or stomping off in an attempt to collect herself).
Life with boys is wondering if that spot on the bed, couch, floor or chair is pee and then scrubbing it until it doesn’t matter what it is, all while tiny little men climb your legs, kick your ankles, jump on your back and, at times, your head having no regard for your hair.
Life with boys is poop jokes and butt jokes and poopy butt jokes followed by maniacal laughs and a random full-sprint body check.
Life with boys is dodging food thrown with purpose and great aim directly at your face.
Life with boys is, “Mom, smell my feet!” followed by a swift, and apparently hilarious, kick to the chin or the belly.
Life with boys is, “MOM! CATCH ME!” when you absolutely are in no position to catch anything, let alone a mini human.
Life with boys is being woken up with a smack to the face and a weirdly aggressive tickle to the feet accompanied by intense roars and creepy giggles. That’s actually just life with kids.
Life with boys is “WATCH OUT BELOW!” when you or your spouse or other child are below.
Life with boys is, “CAN YOU TWO PLEASE STOP TOUCHING EACH OTHER FOR FIVE MINUTES?!”
Life with boys is, “Honey, boys will be boys.” Followed by a loud scream and then an even longer wail.
Life with boys is, “NOPE! Absolutely not. We DO NOT box in this house. There will be NO punching, do you understand me?” Followed by a stand-off with a tiny, pantless man in a perfectly still and perfect-in-form boxing stance.
Life with boys is, “DO NOT PUT YOUR BROTHER IN A CHOKEHOLD!”
Life with boys is, “IF YOU SIT ON HIS HEAD ONE MORE TIME!”
Life with boys, “NO MORE PILLOW FIGHTS. YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK YOUR NECKS!”
Life with boys is, “Please stop pulling your junk like that.”
Life with boys is, “MY CHUNK?! WHAT IS MY CHUNK?!” Followed by more painful- and uncomfortable-looking…readjustment??? Ugh, boys.
Life with boys is black eyes and blue bruises and dirty scraped knees and still not knowing when to stop.
Life with boys is having your longest conversations while they’re perched atop the ceramic throne.
Life with boys is car rides filled with shitty smelling farts, kicks to the back of your chair and whacks to the back of the head with sticks, wrapping paper rolls and light sabers.
Life with boys is wrestling even though you don’t enjoy it, playing ball even though you can’t play for shit and digging in the mud even though it’s the last fucking thing you’d ever want to do.
Life with boys is a god damn contact sport filled with intermissions of sweet kisses, sweaty snuggles and joyful laughter.
Life with boys is everything you thought it would be, on steroids – and still SO much more.
Here’s to the boy moms out there, especially the ones still learning to love with their testosterone-filled lives.