Parenting boys


Today Oliver is the grand old age of seventeen days. At the moment he’s still a cute little bundle. He still has that lovely new baby smell, and his tiny toes are still kissable.

But I know it won’t last.

Sweet little baby boys grow into bigger boys. While they can still be sweet at times, there’s a whole other side to them. And when there’s a whole banana bunch of them that whole other side is magnified.

Of course, we have the messy faces…

… and the messy faces…

… did I mention the messy faces…?

Then they have to climb on anything and everything. Or at least practise their climbing skills. He’ll get there in the end.

And they have to run into things. Headfirst. Preferably with a bucket or something similar on their head just to see if it offers adequate protection. Several times.

Bughunting and catching is a must…

… but this works better when it’s muddy. As does any outdoor activity.

Then there’s jumping. A trampoline is ok but every boy knows that mum and dad’s mattress is better especially when they think you can’t hear them even when you’re in the room directly downstairs.

And we already know about dressing up inappropriately.

I knew they were messy, sweaty, active balls of energy running around. But I’ve recently come to the realisation that every breakfast, lunch or dinner time, every conversation around the kitchen table will have a single topic of conversation.

The topic’s in question? Well, anything to do with body parts or functions will do! Who can burp louder? Who can model their food look like a butt? Who can make tooting noises the best? Oh it’s all going on around our table! It’s as if they are obsessed!

At the moment the guilty parties are Harry (6), Eddie (4) and Sid (3). Paddy, who turns 2 next week, has recently turned into a copycat, mimicking everything anyone says or does so although he copies the noises and laughs I’m still in a state of denial as to his level of involvement. But one of the greatest things for the younger boys is when their older brother Ben (16), decides to try and teach them the one thing every boy should know.

Any guesses?

Anyone?

Yep, it’s the armpit fart.

Giggles galore turn into raucous belly laughs at this musical extravaganza. It’s all made more enjoyable only by my cries of “Do you really have to?!”, spoken while trying to stifle my own laughter stemming not from the actual act but from the infectious guffawing at the amusement laid on by their oh-so-fantastically-cool oldest brother. I have to admit that watching and listening to them interact like this is actually funny!

So while they can get away with it at the moment because they are boys and we all know that boys will be boys and this is what they do, I have resigned myself with the fact that in 20 years time it’s extremely likely they’ll all end up sitting around that kitchen table together, and revert back to these days with the same pooping, parping and burping conversations.

It won’t be as cute to watch but I’ll bet it’ll still be as amusing!

One thought on “Parenting boys

  1. After your comment on "dressing inappropriately", I can't resist sending you a photo of my best friend's second son – makes Captain Underpants look normal!!!
    Your blog today sounds very very familiar – and with Sofia only having the three big brothers and no sisters, you can guess what the influence is – she would love to be able to armpit fart herself, but at 3.5 years old, it's just not having the same effect as it does for almost 10 year old Jerome!!
    Jax

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