My Baby Boy Has Swagger

I have a baby boy.

Sometimes this fact, one that’s been true for exactly seven and a half years today, still blows me away.  There are times when I still can’t really wrap my brain around it.

After having two girls, the boy was a paradigm shift.

I’m all about gender equality and boys and girls playing with things that are non-traditional for their gender.  What fascinates me though is that my little guy definitely does gravitate toward more aggressive toys.  Being brought up by the same two people in a house filled with Polly Pockets and Lalaloopsies and dolls galore, he’d rather play with his Rescue Heroes or lightsabers or Mighty World figures.  When he and his sister first started playing together instead of co-playing, they often played Mighty World and Lalaloopsy World.  His people waltzed in and rescued and wreaked havoc and built and destroyed, while our Princess had the Lalaloopsies going to school, dancing, and playing with their pets.

This was with no model; it was just how they played.

Yesterday morning, in one of those “wow, this really happened” moments, I caught Cooter as he was running through my room on his way to build Legos or save a planet or something.  It was early in the morning, so the transgressions from the day before had been forgotten.  Okay, well forgiven anyway.  I knelt down,  pulled him close, and gave him a big hug.

“Do you know how tickled I was to have a baby boy?” I asked him.  “I was so happy when you were born.”

“No you weren’t.  You didn’t want a boy,” he said, with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Yes, I did.  When I knew you were a boy, my heart was filled with joy.”  I smiled at the look on his face.

Then the real mischief kicked in.

“Ohhhhhh,” he said.  “So you were happier than when you had the girls?”

Oh me.  I see what you did there, bud.  I asked for this, didn’t I?

“No, I was happy they were girls and I was happy you’re a boy.  There will never be a moment in your life that I won’t be happy you are who you are.”

He smiled, ducked my hug, and dashed off.

Sigh.  He’s growing up on me.

Yesterday afternoon after we moved Aub, my college sophomore, and her stuff into her room for the coming year, we all went to the Mart to pick up the last-minute things she needs.  And the fixings for our supper.  My game plan was to divide and conquer.  I sent Aub in one direction and the littles and I headed in another.  When we were just about done, Cooter announced he needed new shampoo.  Really?

“I’m serious.  I’m out.”

I looked at Aub and calculated what I had left to get.

“Can you please take him to get his shampoo?  He knows what it looks like and I’ll take Princess with me to finish up the list on the other side of the store and we’ll be out of here.”

She looked down at Cooter, took his hand, and said, “Okay, but I don’t know why he can’t use her shampoo.”  Both Cooter and our Princess groaned–apparently this would not be okay.

We all headed out to finish our list.  When we met back up with them at the checkout, Cooter was grinning from ear to ear.

“I got some new shampoo.  It smells really good.” He was BEAMING.

Aub shrugged.  “He didn’t like the kids’ ones, so he asked me where the boys’ stuff was.  We headed over and found this.”

My boy's new shampoo.  Old Spice SWAGGER.  Oh good gravy.

My boy’s new shampoo. Old Spice SWAGGER.  It’s Old Spice.  For the Hair.  Oh good gravy.

Yeah you did.

Because it’s a scent she’s quite fond of herself.  Ahem.

Y’all.  For the past two nights this boy has come out of the shower with exactly what it says on the bottle–swagger.  He has me sniff his hair and then emphasizes that it is HIS shampoo.  No one else is to use it.

I’ll have to admit.  It’s a nice change from Fruity Watermelon Peach Apricot Utopia.

But I am not sure I like where this is heading.  Big guy shampoo today, what’s he going to want tomorrow?  The full-size meal at the drive thru?  Shaving cream for a whisker or two?  Jeans without *gasp* an elastic waist?

Say it ain’t so.

Tonight after he headed to bed, I stepped on a Lego and found two Matchbox cars–one on my kitchen counter and one in my tote.  The lightsaber in the middle of the floor doesn’t bother me quite as much.  I’m thinking for now I might be safe.

But just in case, I’m hugging that cute little missing both front teeth boy extra hard tomorrow.  And I’m going to hold his hand as we walk along for as long as he will let me.  I will tell him every chance I get how happy I am that he is my baby boy.  Because it seems like just yesterday that baby made me the Mama of a son.  And now–

now he has swagger.

Oh me.  For the love.

Young’uns, if you’ve got ’em, hug ’em while you can.  This whole time flying by thing is crazy.

Love to all.