It's raining men by Jo

[advert:mpu]As far as I know, life goes like this: boys noisy, boys busy, boys wild, boys eat a lot of breakfast, Mum - no time to think, breathe and certainly not to eat. Really according to the theory I should be mother to one boy (I definitely looked after myself better before children) and two bonnie, obedient, felt-tip drawing girls. Not only that, but according to the new study from Exeter University, you get boys by having a high calorie breakfast. OK, find me a mother who, after her first baby actively chooses to pile on the calories before 8am. At least one should have the decency to wait until 10am!

Imagine how pissed off you would be if you really wanted a boy and so ate your way through monster fat-laden meals, only to find yourself two stone heavier and pregnant with a girl. Even if I was to have another go (put away that knowing smile – I am not having anymore) I certainly would not go with this theory. Destiny would always win through and land me with twin boys. Five boys in one house imagine that….

Which reminds me of the time I was moonlighting at a different local ‘office’ and was chatting to a mum. Usual chat ensued.

Politely I asked – what children do you have. “Well, I have two girls and they are just wonderful, in fact just the other week we visited my brother who has 3 boys. It’s the best form of contraceptive going to that house.” Pause. “So, what children do you have?” I responded hesitantly “em, 3 boys.” Women looked embarrassed and thought she could save the day by plucking dry witty comment out of the air "better not get pregnant again, it might be twin boys.” She was a very funny lady…


So what is it with boys? I spend half my time engaged in an internal dialogue discussing with a captive audience of myself, how much easier life would be with girls. And yet when people (note use of the plural, this happens a lot) find out that I have three boys aged six and under, and they give me that sympathetic look of oh poor you, I want to thump them very hard with whatever power-ranger toy is to hand. Secretly half of me agrees with them, but what gives them the right to diss dem boys.

It’s the smug looks that really eat away at me. Sometimes when I watch the mothers of girls (note – just a random few I don’t know and have never met, ahem) parent their children so efficiently, kindly and so apparently easily, I look on with envy. Yet I can see that glimmer in their eye, as I struggle with the three rowdy boys with their plus one (new term for regular play date – do you think this will make it on to the official social circle? Dear Master Louis, you are cordially invited to my house after school to be my + one, dress: smart casual – I digress), bags everywhere, snacks creeping out of every orifice of the buggy, my voice hoarse from all the shouting, my head just above water and they think…..Oh that poor woman, do you think I should go over and help her, perhaps she might like to hear some of my top tips on parenting. And then there are the others who think to themselves “There but for the grace of god go I! “

The most regular response is “Oh boys are harder now, but just wait until those girls are teenagers. Then who’ll be laughing.” Well I’m not convinced that’s true. I am constantly reminded about the antics of Avi and his two brothers as teenagers. Their favourite story is the one when Sally their mum, when realising that 15 year old Greg (the oldest) was out painting the local pubs a shade of red, rang every single local publican to inform them that her son – wearing drainpipe jeans, striped shirt and fake leather piano tie, was underage and should come home - now! Anyway, I would love to hear some honest opinions on whether girls really do become a nightmare?

Looking back, the time when people make the most ridiculous comments is when you tell them the sex of the healthy baby you have just delivered. “Oh well, never mind”, “Well, did you get your girl? Oh well better luck next time!” Or just silence – they can’t even find the words to congratulate you.

If I was to calculate the amount of negative to positive comments I had when Gabriel was born I would put it to 8:2. Strangers even stopped me in the street to give me their condolences!!


But I think I may have found the antidote. My husband has to go the far east once a year for a business trip. There he is King. They marvel at his virility and ability to produce three wonderful boys. OK so perhaps they take things to extreme the other way, but sometimes it’s nice just to be surrounded by people who think you’ve lucked in by having, not one, not two, but three rowdy brilliant little boys.



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