OF all the things I thought I’d be when I grew up, a mum of two boys was not one of them.
I hadn’t given much thought to what I’d ‘have’, only knowing one healthy child was a blessing. But at the back of my mind there were tutus and French plaits.
There must have been because my eldest, two-year-old Monty with the best curly red hair, has realised stopping me plaiting his hair is futile. Come to think of it, he quite enjoys it.
But that’s it – an occasional pang when passing little frilly, pink clothes in shops and an unfulfilled showcasing of intricately braided hair (my husband draws the line at plaits for nursery.)
You know what’s great about having two boys?
I’d say the same if I had two girls. It is simply what you know and love unconditionally.
So much so that upon hearing from my husband she had a grandson and then a second, my mum couldn’t help but look sad. Because her experience was of two girls and she didn’t ‘get’ what it was to have boys. They are winning her over.
There’s well-worn saying about boys.
“A daughter’s for life. A son until he gets a wife.”
Where to start?
It seems like a humorous statement but I’ve seen fear in the eyes of new mothers, a terror of abandonment from their son. And I’ve seen the eye-rolls of mums with adult sons who testify they feel they ‘lost’ them when the wife came along.
It’s such a stupid concept; so nihilistic to think the worst will happen in what, thirty years?
I’ll be in my late sixties if Monty or Chester marry in their early thirties. Frankly, I just want to be alive and well, ready for another twenty years of adoring my boys. I have a lifetime of my boys until then and the surest way to ensure they ‘replace’ you with a wife, is by fearing that’s what will happen.
I don’t want to be suspicious of their partners, to fear them. It’s obvious in mother-in-laws and neediness can be seen as a threat to your boys’ chosen partner.
The bond between mother and son is amazing. The cuddles make my heart swell to bursting point every day. I refuse to believe that bond will be broken.
I refuse to put up the barriers and become a stereotupe.
And anyway, I’ll be insisting on cuddles when they’re fifty.