Boys

I am not sure I can handle being the mother of a boy.  Now, I know what you're thinking...I have a teenage boy...I should be used to this, right?  Not by a long-shot.  One boy, who was the sensitive, intellectual type, years ago, was no match for Owen.  I do not say "Connor," because I believe Connor is following in his older brother (and father's) footsteps.  Is he a trouble-maker?  Yes.  That part I can handle, as all of my children are trouble-makers (I'm a veteran of mischief battles of various sorts, ranging from hair-cutting to clothes-altering...by means of scissors and markers.)  No, that I can handle.  It is the pure gross factor that comes with being a boy...a rough and tumble, fearless, slightly thick-headed boy. 

Just today alone I had a plethora of physical ailments, ranging from heart failure (when he dragged the stool to the fridge, teetered on top and grabbed a glass from the counter,) a bloody lip when he head banged me for trying to put him in pants, and a tension headache as he took his plate, covered in syrup, and set it on his head...slowly dragging it down over his face, leaving a streak of sticky syrup all over his head and nose.  He thought this was hilarious.  At lunch he tossed his fork aside to eat his noodles like a dog...face first. 

None of this compared to later, though, when we went outside to play.  First, apparently still a dog, he lapped up some dirty water on the play structure.  Then, not more than a couple of minutes later, I heard my mom ask the words no parent wants to hear outside, when there is no food around.

"What is in his mouth?!" 

Upon inspection, we realize that Owen has eaten a worm.  Half of a worm, to be exact, as the other half was laying at his feet...with teeth marks all over it. 

This kid is not even two-years-old yet. 

I cannot begin to imagine what the next few years have in store for me...