Back Home Again in Indiana
Not long after the tiny little nightmare made his appearance, my mom asked if I was going to start wearing bows in my hair. I looked at her like she had developed a crack problem because have I ever worn bows in my hair? She then explained it seems like boy moms are the girliest. Again, I looked at her like she had morphed into Gary Busey, but now I understand.
Since February (when I went back to work and started to feel like a somewhat functional adult again), I’ve had my nails done more times than I’m willing to admit, declared a shopping day, started barre classes, signed up for StitchFix, and seriously debated coloring my hair. Now I’ve also subjected Jesse to several Blackhawks and Sox games and taunted my son for his weak burps, but the point is my I’m A Girl Dammit! side has never been stronger.
I forget which fellow boy mom I was talking with about this, but she said she was living the same life and attributed it to testosterone fight. Not unlike walking down a high school hallway, when you’re a female surrounded by males, you go into fight or flight mode. And since I’ve always been half man, fight was the obvious choice.
So I now find myself fighting the good fight of eating aggressively is not behavior to encourage, there are other shows besides Cops, the tiny one’s toots are not the most hilarious thing ever, and WHY DO YOU POOP SO MUCH. These are all fights I lose for the most part, but it’s okay because I’ll always have my HGTV. And if that doesn’t work, I’m sure one of the nieces has a bow I can borrow.