There’s a very exclusive group of moms that I recently had the opportunity to join. It’s called The Three Boys Club. There’s no dues to be paid, no meetings to be had. The “secret handshake” is just a sympathetic nod of the head, usually during some kind of embarrassing moment in public.
It’s quite the adventure.
I often run errands with the baby while the two older boys are in school. (That’s a big blessing for me, having some free time with just the little one.) Many people love new babies and of course I politely make conversation when they talk to me. Upon finding out that he’s my third boy, I always get the same response:
“Are you going to try for a girl?”
No way, Jose.
I entertained the idea of having a little girl. Of course as a teenager I had my girl names all picked out. Before I found out the sex of my last baby I oohed and ahhed over all of the adorable baby girl clothes. But I didn’t buy a single outfit because in the back of my mind I knew I was meant to be a mom of only boys.
My life is full of bugs, dirt, cars, and legos, and my house is never clean. They’re always hungry, and they blow through new clothes and shoes like there’s no tomorrow. Oh and my minivan? It’s a disaster no matter how often I clean it out.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I fully embrace the life of a mom who’s raising three young boys. At the end of the day after I’ve cooked enough dinner to feed a football team, done a few loads of laundry and stepped on my share of legos, I get the most loving hugs and kisses from three boys who absolutely adore me.