Selfish

You guys, can I admit something here between the six of us? I am so over all the links on Pinterest about raising good sons and boys dating expectations, blah, blah, blah.

Let me back up a bit. Back when James turned two, he and I were having a tough time. He was fully in the terrible twos and, like his brother before him, a mini dictator. The main difference is that I am more tired and mentally drained than I was with Zach and James is much more stubborn. Also, I had just made a major life change and was not fully adjusted.
Then, I decided we had to get rid of the pacifier and, as you can imagine, James was not impressed. He decided to go on a hunger strike and instead of eating wanted to scream, like a banshee, at midnight for me to bring him hot milk. Not warm or cold milk, hot milk. And, like a woman being slowly driven crazy by a banshee, I brought it to him. But this two year old really does not need to be drinking hot milk out of a 6 month sized cup, so I tried to stop that too. Such a rookie mistake, trying to do two changes at one. I really should have known better. 

Then one night, he woke up at 9:30 crying like he was on fire. I knew he was not (thank you video monitor) and I knew what he wanted. So I caved. I brought him his hot milk and some Advil in case this was all wicked teething and rocked my baby to sleep. 

And you guys, it was so nice. This terror of a boy was sleeping so peacefully and sweetly on me like he was an infant. Those sweeping eyelashes resting on his chubby cheeks and his warm breath on my chest. 

And in that moment I realized I don’t want to share him. Or his brother. I don’t want to raise them to be polite and kind and thoughtful. I don’t want them to be good huggers or open the door for people. They are just going to marry girls and leave me. 

That is right, I was feeling super selfish and wanting to keep them all to myself.

Now, I can look back on this time and realize I was just a tad bit emotional and overwrought…I was fully livid with all these lists of what boys should do and what good husbands do and what mother’s should teach their sons. I was over it. All I could think is that we have just a few years with boys before they turn smelly and hairy and I refuse to think about their future brides, Katilyn and Harper. Refuse.

But, of course, that has not actually happened. While I still will not read the lists, I am, obviously, teaching my boys to be respectful, polite children (it is not really working, but we are trying).

Just to clarify though, that is only so I want to hang out with them. Girls, you are on your own. 

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