The following is an article I wrote for our local paper a couple of years ago, but never actually posted here. I’m often asked if I regret not having daughters. Though my life is void of pink hair bows, sweet dresses, paper dolls and braids (all things I dreamed of enjoying with my little girls before God gave me this passel of boys), I can answer truthfully that I do not for a minute doubt that God knew exactly what he was doing when he continued to bless us with boys. My life is full of joy – The Joy of Boys…
When our first baby was born a boy, I was very happy knowing that any other children we would have in the future would be under the protection of an older brother. When our second baby was born a boy, I was glad our oldest son now had a brother to play with. When our third baby was born a boy, I decided that God must have something special in mind for our family. THREE boys?
When I was pregnant with our fourth baby, you can just guess what everyone around me was saying. “Finally going to have a sister for all those boys?” or “I bet you’re sure hoping for a girl this time!”
When our fourth baby was born a boy, they laid him on my chest, and all my husband and I could do was laugh for joy that God had given us yet another son!
Boys are so sweet. Boys love their Mamas like crazy. Boys think their Daddys are the best. Boys….ah boys. Boys bring such joy.
The Joy of Boys
I love how boys play (now that I’m used to it!). Our house is usually noisy, rough and fast – there’s not a lot of tip-toeing or sitting down quietly to color pictures at the table.
Generally…I find that the male greeting (between my boys and all of their friends who come over to play) has little to do with words and a lot to do with grabbing onto and pulling one another down to the floor into an immediate wrestling match.
I’ve learned to look the other way, smile, and shake my head about so many things that I used to fear would turn into a trip to the Emergency Room. Boys play rough – they can’t help it. They make noise. It oozes out of their pores. Rolls of wrapping paper become swords or light sabers. Toast and grilled cheese sandwiches are chewed into the shape of little guns. Math books become drums. Little pink erasers become race cars.
Everything (everything) becomes a competition: who can finish their milk first, who can put their jammies on the fastest, who can get from the kitchen to the living room without touching the floor.
It’s one big, loud, ball game at our house all day long – and I wouldn’t trade it for all tea parties in Boston.
I consider it a huge honor to be the mama of boys. Boys who we pray will grow up and be Godly leaders some day. Boys who we pray will be Godly husbands and daddys some day.
Oh, and some day, when my boys grow up and get married…I’ll have daughters. I’ll take them shopping and we’ll cook and do hair together.
Until then, I’ll just continue to feed mountains of mashed potatoes and huge stacks of pancakes to all these boys while they make all the noises with their armpits that they are so good at making and while they laugh at all the things boys can’t help but think are funny.
Boys who have completely and totally won my heart.