Updated: Jul 12
Originally written Summer 2014...
When he was a little guy Luke called me “Mommy Boy.” I loved that name. Mommy Boy. It fit.
Luke is boy number two. For most of his life so far, the middle boy. His dad is also the middle boy. One of three. Early in our marriage Kyle said, "I liked growing up with boys. We should have boys." His comment turned out to be prophetic.
We started with three and we’re hoping soon to make it five.
Lots of people ask, why not a girl? Aren’t there girls needing families? Absolutely. Girls more desperate than boys for lots of awful reasons. We talked about that very thing during our first adoption conversation. We prayed about it. But even as we prayed we knew. Our family, our home, this is a great place for boys.
Back in my days of dreaming girl dreams I hoped for husband and family to be sure, but I never imagined all these boys. Now I can’t imagine anything else. A while back an errand took me into a girl store, one of those pink and glittery accessorizing places. I felt like an alien, which later made me laugh because after all, I am female.
On occasion our washer or dryer breaks down and my girl-mom neighbor offers me hers. She says she’s never seen such a pile of blue and gray. I look into my own closet and smile. Those boy colors seem to have rubbed off on me.
I’ve grown quite fond of the low-maintenance, wash-and-wear durability of boys. Admittedly, their ways are not always my ways. They bring things to the dinner table best left in the bathroom, and sometimes they take things into the bathroom best left in the kitchen. Their definition of clean makes me a bit crazy. They make everything a competition. But overall the ways of boys have predictability and rhythm I find comforting.
I like being Mommy-Boy.