A Letter From An Old Mother Of Boys To A New One
~ A LETTER FROM AN OLD MOTHER OF BOYS…TO A NEW ONE ~
Dearest Meghan,
If you could see my uterus, it’s probably blue. And has a beard. Because this baby factory only makes boys.
Parenting someone of the opposite sex brings challenges you’re just going to have to adapt to, so as a mother of two humans with Y chromosomes, here are my top tips for mothering males:
Firstly, it’s true, boys ARE less drama than girls but you know what? They’re harder to keep alive. You’ve basically got yourself a rabid raccoon on speed, Megs.
Please rethink your standards of ‘safety’. Stock up on Betadine and Band-Aids. My five year old’s favourite toy right now is a mini tomahawk, while my eldest’s latest obsession is firing a cross bow and arrow into an abandoned tyre. Need I say more.
While we’re on the topic of weaponry, get ready for Frogmore Cottage to be buried in mountains of Nerf gun bullets. On the plus side, they double as really great foam earplugs, which you’ll need to combat the NOISE LEVELS you’re about to experience. So stock up on noise cancelling headphones or learn transcendental meditation. You decide.
Let’s talk about your wardrobe. Burn all of your white clothes. That is all.
Most importantly, you must think farts are funny. If you laugh with your son, you’ll all benefit. If you try to get him to stop laughing about them, it will only make matters worse.
You must also be cool with nudity. My boys strip off the moment they get home from school. Forget everything Oprah and The Dalai Lama ever said – jocks + socks are the true key to happiness. And LOTS of food – get your Duchessy mitts on an Aldi trolley token and go nuts. (My nine year old could go head to head with a Japanese competitive eater.)
Last but not least: ‘The Grab’. I’m talking about the doodle, the zizi, the King Dingaling – whatever you want to call it. Get used to it being man-handled 24/7. I have literally been forced to utter the phrase “Stop wrapping your penis around your fork.” May the force be with you.
Yours,
Lise Carlaw
