The Brain of a Twelve Year Old Boy
I have come to believe that the universe, in its infinite wisdom, blessed me with boys for a reason. This is not to say that I didn’t dream of a daughter when my husband and I began to talk about starting a family. In fact, that dream actually began when my childhood friend and I decided we would both have girls who would end up with life-long friendships like ours. She ended up with two girls and I’ve got my three sons.
I won’t lie and say that I hadn’t hoped, with each pregnancy, that a little girl was growing under my heart. I did wish that, and experienced the twinge of disappointment when it was not to be, three times over. And yet, fifteen years after my first son was born, I can’t imagine my life without this utter imbalance of gender in the family. My boys are wonderful and provide me with daily doses of humor and gentlemanly care that enables me to get through the week to the blessed weekend.
Interestingly, it is their constant antics and typical male sense of humor that further reinforces why I was meant to be the mother of boys. The simple truth is that I often feel like I have the brain of a twelve year old boy. I likely wouldn’t recognize this trait if not for the boy-world I live in.
Let me provide some examples of why my brain is that of a twelve year old boy:
Someone farts, or makes a noise that sounds like a fart, and I lose my shit for a good two minutes. (Side note: In the middle of a meeting I once showed my male coworker a video of a hippo farting. We were pretty much useless for the remainder of the afternoon.)
The word balls, in any context, is immediately likened to the male anatomy.
If a comment can be construed in any inappropriate way, then my brain is sure to go there and I may not be able to curb the impulse to blurt out what I find so funny.
I find the women/girls who go all hysterical over a mouse or bug in their immediate vicinity just as annoying, or even more so, than my sons and will often fail to refrain from making a snarky comment about it.
I like action movies and sci-fi, a lot. To put it plainly, I don’t understand those people who aren’t Star Wars fans and am slightly appalled by individuals who don’t know who captains the Millennium Falcon or can’t identity an X-Wing fighter.
When it comes to a hockey game, it’s just not a game without a good fight. Refs, you need to back off and let ‘em take a few swings.
If you come home dirty from romping outside, then it’s been a good day. Unless you’re dirty from stepping in dog crap, I’m always stepping into something.
Playing laser tag in the house is just plain fun, especially when mom wins multiple times. It ceases to be fun when mom hurts her foot jumping down the stairs because she’s so clumsy it should be considered a disability. I wonder how I could qualify for that?
I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. I’m meant to have boys. My brain just understands them.